


Give It To Me Right

by KarateSven



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/F, Porn With Plot, Some of the inner circle will make appearances, but this is mostly about mor and nesta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:19:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarateSven/pseuds/KarateSven
Summary: “We could have a tryst you know. Just the two of us. It could be casual, no one has to know, and it wouldn’t be awkward.”Or Morrigan and Nesta enter into a very casual relationship, and they make several important discoveries. Both about themselves and about the Court they reside in.





	1. Authors Notes

I don't usually do authors notes, but for this one i feel like I should just because of how im writing this fic.

So, I came to the realization that instead of just a smut fic I want to write a fic that will have an actual plot. And when I realized that that is what I wanted to write there are some things that I should probably let you guys know about the world of the fic and my thought process. The perfectionist in me just wants to do a revamp of the events of acotar altogether, but i'm a theatre major and I really don't have time for that. Instead im writing you guys this little note to let you know which canon elements are not being used in this fic that are used in the original series.  


1) I'm not including anything relating to the 'mate bond' at all. Imagine that in this fic, "mates" are rather just your chosen partner, and not someone you were destined to be with forever. I have strong personal feelings about the mate bond in the books, but disregarding those, it limits the story I want to tell so they just don't exist in this fic.  


2) I'm giving Mor more magic and special abilities. This is due mostly because the books never expand on her abilities aside from "Truth" so i'm going to be adding some things in that are not at all seen in the books. 

3) Finally, (and this is the big thing) in acowar Rhys goes behind Mor's back and gives Keir the ability to leave the court of nightmares and visit velaris. He does this without telling Mor and this triggers her PTSD really badly. Instead, in this fic I changed it so that instead Rhys got permission from Mor to make a deal with Keir; he asked her for verbal affirmation before he went and released Keir and the Court. I realize that this may seem like i'm trying to excuse Rhy's actions or sanitize them in a way, which would not be an unfair comment to make, but I wanted to change this bit of canon because there's some specific character exploration I wanted to do with the cousins and I don't know how i'd be able to do that after what Rhys does. 

That's all for now. Thanks for reading so far guys, it means a lot!


	2. Chapter 1

Where does one begin to rebuild after devastation?

Do you start with the homes first? Do you start with the people? Or do you start with yourself? In Morrigan’s experience, the answer could be anything. For she had fought in wars before and violence and battle were not foreign to her. On the contrary, for she knew them well, like an aggravating acquaintance who never seemed to leave her alone.

But the war with Hybern had left everyone, even her, a little shaken.

While the Night Court slowly began to pick up the pieces of its’ toppled jewel, the City of Velaris, the people struggled more to pick up the pieces of their lives. Mor watched it through a raven’s eyes as all different denizens of the Night Court picked up heavy stones and swept away broken glass and shards of wood from the street. Soldiers were running around all over the city and Mor knew that many had been sent to the lands close to the sea, to look for remaining enemy forces and check in on the other fae across the land. Everyone seemed to be trying to pick themselves up somehow, some more than others.

Which is how Mor found herself standing outside a small cottage on the outskirts of Velaris. 

Frankly, she didn’t know why Feyre was so adamant about Nesta coming back to the heart of Velaris. She had made herself clear to Cassian and her sister: she didn’t want to be in Velaris and wanted to be left alone. But Feyre had asked her to come, so she did. The question was, how in the world would she go about talking with Nesta Archeron?

Feyre’s sister was a prickly creature to say the least. Cassian had ranted about her ornery nature for almost an hour after he had flown to her home in the human world around their first meeting. Then Mor had actually met her, and she watched as Nesta Archeron snapped and snarled at practically everyone, had cleverly met every one of Cassian’s jabs with one of her own, and held herself like a Duchess. The rest of the Inner Circle sneered at Nesta Archeron, but Mor distantly found her compelling. She was just as stubborn and headstrong as Feyre, but she was more guarded. She had walls as high and as thick as mountains, and considering what she’d been through, Mor could hardly blame her. But she still did not know how to go about holding a conversation with her, and Mor knew that her visit could result in two possibilities: first, Nesta would snarl at her and tell her to get out, and second, Nesta would hear what she had to say and then tell her to get out. Mor didn’t like either option. But she still came, dressed in simple trousers, dark boots, and her warmest coat, armed with nothing but a basket of food and her good humor. 

Mor regarded the small abode: It was somewhat nondescript, with the walls made from yew wood and stone. The roof was wood and covered in a fine layer of grass and moss, and inside the windows Mor could see the faint glow of light crystals that acted as magical candles. Feyre had described Nesta’s new home as a “hovel” but Mor found that it looked almost the same as any other fae home, albeit slightly smaller. 

Tentatively, she stepped forward and knocked lightly on the front door. There was a sound of shuffling feet and grumbling before the door swung open to reveal Nesta Archeron. She was dressed in a light shirt and woven green skirt, her feet were bare and her hair was disheveled from, what Mor guessed, sleep. She looked tired and a little worn out, which concerned Mor somewhat. 

Nesta scowled at her as soon as she opened the door, her blue eyes narrowing. “Not you too.” 

Mor shrugged, “I didn’t want to come here either if it’s any consolation,” her gaze shifted behind Nesta towards the inside of her house. “May I come in?”

Nesta sneered at her, “sorry, I’m a bit _busy_ at the moment.”

Mor sighed, “look I just want to talk and,” she held up the basket of food, “I brought snacks.”

Nesta’s scowl remained, but she arched a brow at Mor’s basket. “You came here for a picnic? With me?”

“Well I had intended to just eat this at your table with you but if you’d like to go to a hilltop I wouldn’t be opposed.” she replied.

Nesta paused for a moment, her body shifting so her hip was leaning against the doorframe and she crossed her arms. “Why would you bring me food?”

Mor didn’t know what to say to that, so she answered honestly. “People are more open to conversation if they have food in front of them.” Then she paused before adding, “and I just wanted to have a nice meal with someone.”

Nesta blinked, and Mor saw a brief flash of surprise before she shoved it back down again. Nesta sighed deeply, her eyes closing as she drew in a breath, and when she opened them again her gaze was annoyed but resolved.

“Fine.” Then she turned on her heel, and marched inside, not bothering to hold the door. 

Mor blinked in surprise at the disrespect, she wasn’t offended by it, just shocked that Nesta had so little regard for fae standards. Though, if one wasn’t raised with them, one wasn’t prone to adopting the notions of another species.

Mor stepped inside, and shut the door carefully behind her. The inside of the house was cozy, but messy; empty bottles of faerie raspberry wine littered the kitchen table, there were clothes scattered about the floor, and Nesta could see a fine layer of dust on the chairs and on the counters. Mor almost made a comment about the state of the house but decided against it, and stayed silent. 

However, Nesta saw her lips twitch and glared at her. “I know what my home looks like _Morrigan_.” She said in a clipped tone, “besides, Cassian and my sister already ranted about how I live in a pigs’ sty.” She turned towards Mor then, her pale eyes hard, “so if you want to have a go at me for my messy house, please be my guest,” and turned her head away. 

Mor recognized her posture; her arms were crossed and her shoulders strained and tense. Nesta was preparing herself for another shouting match and berating, but Mor wasn’t interested in participating in something like that. 

“I could do that,” Mor said, setting her basket down and taking off her jacket, “or I could sit down with you and eat this bread.” She slid a few of the bottles down the table to make room for the two of them, and sat down motioning for Nesta to take a seat. 

The oldest Archeron sister stared at her suspiciously before stepping over, pulling her chair out, and taking a seat. Mor pulled out the food she brought; a loaf of oatmeal bread, a jar of blackberry jam and clotted cream, sheep’s cheese, cured salmon, and a small bundle of fruit. Nesta surveyed the spread with annoyance before she sliced a piece of bread with the knife Mor provided and dug in.

______________

For the most part they ate in silence, which wasn’t exactly what Nesta had in mind when Mor had asked to come in, but it was much better than the shouting match she’d been anticipating. Nesta dug into her food with a singlemindedness that probably should be concerning; she hadn’t eaten in a while and Mor could see it by the way she savored each bite.

“Alright,” Nesta said, turning to Mor and crossing her arms, “let’s get this over with. My sister wants me to come back to Court, correct?”

Mor wiped her mouth on a napkin and looked her in the eye. Mor had come in nondescript clothing, but it did nothing to hide that radiance of her tawny skin or the glint in her russet eyes. Even without the dress or the fine jewelry, she looked like a Queen, and Nesta couldn’t deny that deep down she held a good amount of deference for her. She watched as Mor entwined her fingers together and then spoke, “she’s worried about you and wants you to come home.”

Nesta snorted, “the Velaris court is no home of mine. Feyre just wants me in _her_ territory.”

Mor cocked her head, “why is that so bad? She could help you there, set you up in a nice house.”

“I don’t want a nicer house,” Nesta hissed, “I don’t want what she’s offering. I just want to be left alone.”

“What makes you think that’s a better option?” Mor said frowning.

Nesta snorted, her eyes swimming with annoyance and exhaustion. “How could my sister help me? She doesn’t know what I’m going through, she couldn’t do anything to make this easier.” She had already said as much to Cassian and her sister when they visited her and she was sick to death of repeating herself. Feyre might have thrived in the Court of Dreams, but Nesta felt boxed in there. Not only that but she didn’t want the power or status that Feyre wanted to offer her, she just wanted a semblance of the life she had before. 

“Feyre was turned into fae just like you were,” Mor said, “she knows exactly what you’re going through.”

“ _No, she does not_ ,” Nesta snarled, and Mor’s eyes widened with shock at the rage in her voice. “My sister likes being fae, she likes having her powers, and she likes her status, and having a High Lord at her beck and call.” Nesta said, “but I _never_ wanted this. I _liked_ being human, and I wanted to stay that way but I had that choice taken from me.” Her hands curled into fists then, “all I ever wanted was a normal life. But then my sister got roped into a fae war and somehow I was dragged in and it made me into something I’m not.”

Nesta didn’t know why she was unloading this all on Mor, she hadn’t even said this much to Cassian when he confronted her before, but now that she had started she couldn’t stop. “I can hear from long distances, I can see so clearly that I’m startled by sunlight, and I can… I can do things with magic that I never would have dreamed of.” To Nesta’s horror she began to shake, “I was shoved into a body that wasn’t mine to begin with and I don’t know what to do with it. But I know that if I stay in Velaris, around Feyre and Cassian and Rhysand with their parties and politics I’ll go mad, I know I will.”

She felt a lump forming in her throat and Nesta shut her mouth; she would not cry in front of Morrigan, she didn’t need to see that. There was silence for a little while, Nesta could tell Mor was searching for something to say but couldn’t form the right words. Nesta spoke before she could say something.

“So, are you going to try and force me to go back?” She asked, bracing herself for whatever would come next.

“No.” Nesta’s eyes widened and she looked towards Mor, who smiled at her sympathetically. “I didn’t come here to force you to do anything. Like I said, I just wanted to talk.” She rose from her seat then, reaching for her basket then and picking up her jacket, “I know you don’t really trust me, but you should know that I’m not in the business of forcing people to do something against their will. I know all too well what it’s like to be put in that position.” 

Before Nesta could process that particular comment, Mor was at the door again, the handle clenched in her fingers. “I suppose I’ll see you again at some point, Nesta Archeron.” Then Mor swanned out of the house, swinging the door shut behind her with a small clunk. 

Nesta sat back in her chair contemplating; that had been significantly less painful than her last encounters with Feyre and Cassian. While she was speaking, she noticed that Mor didn’t try to interrupt her or even shout her down, she just sat back and listened, which was more than anyone had done for her very recently. Plus, she had brought her food, good food, and Nesta was always appreciative of a nice meal. Distantly, she wondered how exactly Mor and Rhysand could possibly be from the same family. 

Nesta shook herself out of her thoughts, just because Morrigan was more pleasant to be around than the other members of Rhysand’s Inner Circle didn’t mean anything. She knew firsthand that kindness wasn’t as wholesome as it appeared, and with the fae it could just be a front to get her to let her guard down. Nesta wasn’t in the mood to get duped by Rhysand’s cousin if that was her angle. 

Still, she was somewhat perturbed by the fact that some part of her actually thought it okay to open up to Mor in such a way, she hadn’t told anyone how she really felt, and Nesta didn’t know if she started ranting because of Mor or because she was just so tired of dealing with frustration from people around her.

Nesta’s head started to throb, and she banished all thoughts of Morrigan from her head. Right now, what she wanted was a bottle of wine so she could forget anything to do with pretty brown eyes and a disarming smile.

______________

The next time Mor saw Nesta was, surprisingly, at Rita’s bar two weeks later. 

She had travelled to the little establishment because she had spent most of her time in the Hewn City, reorganizing and reorienting fae within the Court of Nightmares. As Mor worked with them more, she came to understand that many of them she could actually tolerate being around now that they were taking a more proactive role in running the Night Court. However, despite the good progress, she saw her father constantly which drained her immeasurably; having to look at his face and remember how he treated her all those years before almost sent her into a rage every time or a sobbing fit or both. Dealing with Keir came with her territory unfortunately, but Mor took pleasure in the fact that if Keir moved even a toe out of line she had the authority and the power to break every bone in his body. That fact alone is why he tended to stay several feet away from Mor, and only made requests through another party. Still, it was exhausting having him so close to her, and all she wanted was a stiff drink or pleasant company, or maybe both.

So, it was a definite surprise when she walked into the small tavern, and spotted Nesta Archeron perched on a chair, chatting with two other ladies good naturedly. The first thing Mor noticed is that Nesta seemed more relaxed than when she had seen her last; she leaned against the bar at her back in a simple blue dress that was loose by still highlighted her curves. She had pulled back the top half of her hair into a braid and let the rest of her chestnut curls hang around her shoulders in lose waves. The most jarring thing was that she was smiling, her clever pale eyes glinting with mirth. 

The moment Nesta lifted her wine glass to her lips was when she noticed Mor and her eyes widened almost comically. Mor brushed aside her initial surprise and moved forward; regardless of Nesta’s presence here, Mor came for a drink and company, and she was going to get them.

As she approached the bar the woman to Nesta’s right, the one who had been chatting her up, saw Mor and immediately gave up her seat, giving Mor a small bow of deference. Mor hadn’t wanted that reaction, she liked to keep a low profile outside the court, but still, it was nice having that kind of respect. She stood at the bar and ordered a glass of mulled wine, because it was a little chilly and it was a good drink to have this time of year.

It was when she took her first sip of spiced wine that Nesta seemed to recover her voice. “What are you doing here?” she asked, not bothering to hide her outrage and surprise. 

“I’ve been coming here _much_ longer than you have, so don’t start.” She replied, looking at her from the corner of her eye. “But I’m equally surprised to find you here. I thought you lived near a bar anyways.”

“I like a change of scenery every now and again,” Nesta said in a clipped tone. Mor noticed that the fae woman to Nesta’s left pouted at the lack of attention, and sauntered off to find another person to converse with. Curious.

“Right,” Mor said fully turning to look at Nesta now and arching an eyebrow, “and did you know this bar caters to a very specific kind of fae?”

Nesta shifted awkwardly in her seat and then scowled at Mor, “I didn’t at first,” she admitted. “But then I came her more often and I picked up on the-” she trailed off searching for the right word, “ _atmosphere_ , here.” She settled on. Mor smirked at her fidgeting but Nesta soldiered on, “and then the more I came, the more I realized that I sought this place out _because_ of that atmosphere.”

Mor’s glass of wine was halfway to her mouth when she heard this and she paused when Nesta’s words fully registered. _That_ was certainly not something she had been expecting, especially from Feyre’s sister. 

“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” Mor asked her in a low tone. Nesta glowered at her again, her freckled cheeks flushed slightly from the wine and embarrassment. 

“Yes I am.” She said curtly, “and if you tell anyone-”

“I wont.” Mor cut her off, “I wouldn’t do that. Not to anyone.” She took a sip of wine again, trying to process this new information as she turned around, putting her back to the bar. 

Mor felt eyes burning into the side of her head and she turned and met Nesta’s intense stare with her own. Nesta seemed to search her for something; her pale eyes, like the color of an overcast sky, assessing her before she leaned away with a small nod. “Good.” Nesta said, taking a large sip of wine. Mor saw the tension in her shoulders relax slightly and she felt an odd sort of kinship with Nesta Archeron, which was the most jarring thing to happen to her in a while.

They fell into a kind of companionable banter. Mor would talk and Nesta would make a snide comment, and the more they interacted Mor realized that Nesta’s quips had no real bite to them, it was just her way of interacting. She didn’t know if that was because of the wine in her hand, or because of the relaxing atmosphere of Ritas, but either way Mor was glad to have just a normal conversation with her. It was nice to have just a mundane interaction once in a while.

“So why are you really here?” Nesta asked out of the blue. Mor’s furrowed her brow and turned to gaze at Nesta and saw the more pronounced redness in her cheeks, and her hooded eyes. She was definitely drunk at this point. 

“Are you curious?” Mor asked, her lips twitching in amusement.

Nesta snorted and rolled her eyes, “yes of course I’m curious.” She said, pointing her finger at Mor with less significantly less coordination than normal. “That’s why I asked.”

Despite herself, Mor laughed and Nesta actually grinned back at her. “I suppose I was looking for company tonight but,” she shrugged, “I like our conversation better right now.”

She didn’t know why, but Mor found the defiance a little charming. Nesta didn’t care that she was a Queen, or that Cassian was a general, or that Rhysand was a High Lord; to her they were just other beings, not worth her respect until it was earned. Mor knew this prospect drove Rhys crazy and she could admit that the notion that her authority was not recognized grated on her somewhat, but she also found it refreshing. Because she wasn’t anyone to Nesta, and Mor didn’t have to meet any expectations around her. 

Nesta frowned and squinted at Mor, as if she couldn’t believe her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why? You don’t think I have my own trysts every now and again?” Mor questioned. Nesta downed the rest of her wine and waved away Mor’s words with a drunken flourish. 

“By the Cauldron no, that’s not what I meant.” She said, finally setting her glass down on the bar. “I would’ve thought that a Queen would have a more-,” Nesta stopped looking for words, her fingers tapping on the counter, “a more serious relationship.” She finally finished.

“Ah.” Mor said, taking a healthy sip from her glass. She paused then, debating what to say next. She didn’t know how to respond but she saw Nesta’s gray-blue eyes weren’t accusing, just curious, and she decided to be honest. “I would not mind having a serious relationship. Where I could marry a woman, and have her rule beside me in the Court.” She took another large sip then, “but that’s not really an option for me right now.”

Nesta’s frown deepened, “What do you mean?”  
Mor sighed; this was always a touchy subject for her since it’s part of the reason her father and mother disowned her and abandoned her. She wasn’t ashamed of herself for who she preferred to love, but there was still that fear inside, the terror of people knowing about who she really is and rejecting her because of it. It had been five hundred years but the thought of it was still terrifying to her. 

“I cannot afford to publically declare my love to another woman right now,” she said quietly. “Changes are happening in the Court of Nightmares, and the players in that particular game are taking a more active role in running the Night Court.” Her finger tapped against the glass in her hand, grounding her. “And they would not approve of my preferences.” She thought of her father then, and his cold brown eyes so like her own, and her hand tightened around the glass. “And I would have no patience for their jeers or sneering or scorn. I would have to make a show of force and power,” she said, “and I don’t like getting violent unless I have too.”

“It sounds to me like they’d deserve it,” Nesta said shrugging, but her frown was still in place. “Is the Court of Nightmares really so cold and vicious?”

“More than you know.” Mor said lowly, and that’s all the answer Nesta needed. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, just drinking and sitting before Nesta spoke again. 

“So, what? You just come here every other night and bring home a lover for the night?”

“Yes,” Mor said. She didn’t want to mention Andromache right then, she had been something more and Mor still felt a pang whenever she thought of her. Then she looked Nesta, “but you’re here for the same thing are you not?”

Nesta shrugged, her eyes taking on a slightly glazed look in them. “Yes, I am.” She gazed at her empty wine glass, staring at it impassively. “I’m just here for some fun,” then her eyes zeroed in on Mor, “with men _and_ women.”

Mor felt warmth settle in her chest at the look; she wasn’t completely sober but she was certainly lucid enough to know that the look Nesta was giving her wasn’t friendly. It was _hungry_ , and despite herself Mor’s body reacted to it, she felt adrenaline and the warm feeling of desire course through her. But this was rocky territory, _very_ rocky, and Nesta was drunk and probably didn’t mean a word of what she said.

Mor then pulled a stack of gold coins from her pocket and caught the bartender’s eyes as she set them on the counter. She then turned to Nesta and gently took her elbow, “I think you should get some sleep.”

Nesta slid to her feet, now glaring at Mor, “I am not a _child_ ,” she tried to rip her elbow away and only succeeded in stumbling forward. Mor caught her by the shoulders and steadied her on her feet, hands holding her gently in place.

“I know you’re not,” Mor said, “you’re just a drunk fae woman who singlehandedly drank three bottles of faerie wine and should probably go to sleep.”

“Oh please,” Nesta said, her words slurring slightly as she tried to pull away. But she tripped over her own feet and started to fall backward and Mor, with incredible dexterity, caught her. “Stupid faerie legs.” Nesta mumbled and Mor resisted the urge to laugh. 

“Let me take you home. Please?” Mor asked, “I just want to make sure you get home in one piece.”

Nesta actually rolled her eyes as she pushed off of Mor’s hands, but she huffed as she turned towards the door. “You can come with me if you want.” And lurched her way towards Rita’s front door. Mor rolled her eyes and followed behind Nesta as she pulled the door open with a flourish and stepped outside, grabbing a familiar cloak from the rack on her way out. As she joined Nesta outside, she noticed the older Archeron sister was shivering slightly and Mor slung the long navy coat around Nesta’s shoulders. 

As soon as she settled the garment over her shoulders Nesta stilled, her eyes widening in surprise. She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, and Mor ignored her, settling the cloak better on her shoulders and fastening the gold clasp on the left breast.

“I’d be careful,” Mor said, breaking the silence, “winter is ending, but it still snows. It can be very cold up here.” She stepped back, and Nesta looked up at her, her pale eyes wide and confused. Several emotions seemed to cross her features before her expression settled on the familiar scowl she always had.

“If it makes you feel better,” she whispered. She then brushed past Mor and headed down the cobbled street, not bothering to look behind her. Mor sighed, and followed behind, keeping a few feet between them. Nesta stopped then, and whirled around, glaring menacingly at Mor. “Don’t do that,” she hissed, “Cassian does that all the time, he skulks behind me and I _hate_ it. Just walk beside me for Cauldrons sake!”

Mor blinked, taken aback by the outburst, but brushed it off and strode forward, until she was on Nesta’s right. For the duration of their walk, they didn’t say anything. Nesta spent most of her time focusing hard on the ground, looking like she was trying her hardest not to trip. Mor didn’t know what to say so she just stayed silent, choosing instead to take in the scenery around her; the various cottages, the closed markets, the exquisite gardens. Velaris was really beautiful this time of year, but she noticed the torn winter decorations waving haphazardly from crushed walls and broken poles and frowned. The people decorated what they could, it showed their resilience, but seeing all these cheerful patterns on the decimated parts of the city soured Mor's mood.

Finally, after a long trek through the outskirts of the city, they arrived outside Nesta’s small home. Nesta took a deep breath, and then stumbled forward and unlocked her door, and strode inside without a backwards glance. Mor watched her go in before turning to go, but stopped when she heard Nesta’s voice.

“We could have a tryst you know.” Nesta said, and Mor turned to see her leaning against her doorframe, her cheeks still flushed with alcohol but her eyes were clear. “Just the two of us. It could be casual, no one has to know, and it wouldn’t be awkward.” She said it casually, as if she were talking about the weather, and it baffled Mor somewhat.

“Excuse me?” She gasped.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised,” Nesta said rolling her eyes. “It’s just sex. It’s not a big deal.”

“I… suppose,” Mor hesitated. She had a point; it was awfully convenient for the two of them, and Nesta was attractive, even if she did scowl most of the time. It was a simple arrangement, and it was incredibly tempting. But the problem is that Nesta was drunk, and despite the fact that Mor could tell Nesta wasn’t faking her attraction to her, there was a chance she would never have said this If she was sober. Not only that but Mor didn’t want to take advantage of a drunk woman. “But not right now.”

“But you went to Rita’s for company!” Nesta exclaimed, looking incredibly frustrated. 

Mor rolled her eyes but her lips curled into a small smile. “Then I’ll make you a promise,” she said stepping forward and gazing into Nesta’s eyes, “once you sober up, and you’re still interested in pursuing this, we can talk.” Then she stepped back and away from the door towards the road. “Until then, get some rest Nesta Archeron.” 

She turned around and sauntered down the road, feeling eyes on her back until she heard the door shut with a decisive click. Once she heard that Mor channeled her magic, and winnowed to her balcony, touching down on the dark marble. As she reached for the door she paused and turned back around, gazing out over the expanse of Velaris and the twinkling night sky.

Nesta Archeron was… tantalizing in her own way. But there was no way she meant what she said, and there was a chance that come morning she wouldn’t even remember what she said to Mor at the bar. With that thought Mor turned and headed inside her home, clicking the door shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you are wondering why I wrote this at all and I dont even have an answer for you. I was just thinking about these characters and then I wondered what a relationship between them would start off like and then I furiously wrote this. So. I hope you enjoyed it, and enjoy the other chapters to come.


	3. Chapter 2

After her stint at Rita’s with Mor, Nesta had woken up the next morning with nausea, a headache, and a foul mood. She spent the rest of the day lounging and trying to get herself back in working order, eating some food and drinking half a dozen cups of tea. 

She was starting to like the life she had here, but she could not stop thinking about Mor. Despite her drunkenness that night, she remembered every word she said to her, and she remembered what Mor had replied: _“once you sober up, and you’re still interested in pursuing this, we can talk.”_ Nesta thought about those words constantly, and it was starting to become a nuisance. Because she was still interested; Mor was gorgeous, but more than that she was patient, kind, and had shown that she was careful. Ideally, she’d be perfect for a casual relationship, but Nesta hadn’t seen her in days. It was probably because Mor has actual responsibilities that had to do with keeping unsavory forces in check, but Nesta wanted to actually discuss this arrangement with her. 

Or Morrigan was avoiding her. That was a definitely possibility.

That thought alone put Nesta in a terrible mood, and she had half a mind to grab the nearest bottle of faerie wine and drink her annoyance or disappointment away, she couldn’t tell which.

There was something magnetic about Morrigan; whether it was her beauty, her kind heart, or how she made everything so easy. Talking to Morrigan was so much easier for Nesta than it was for everyone else she knew; speaking to Feyre was like pulling teeth, and speaking to Cassian was even worse. But with Morrigan words came easy, and she was surprised to find that talking actually made her feel just a little bit better about herself. And If there was a possibility that she couldn’t talk to her anymore simply because she had estranged Mor with her words sent a pang through her. It made her feel terrible, and for the life of her she couldn’t understand why.

She just needed to see Mor again, purely to discuss arrangements of course, and then she could relax.

______________

Her chance came when she least expected it.

It was freezing, the snow was coming down steadily in large clumps against the violet night sky, and the wind was biting as it blew through the street. Nesta pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and continued her brisk walk; no one was out and it added a sort of eeriness to the city.

As she trekked up the small hill to her cottage she saw a figure leaning against her front door. Nesta tensed, her hackles raising before she spotted blonde hair and the deep read of her cloak and she relaxed slightly.

“You know back in the human world, people usually sent a letter ahead of time to alert their hosts that they would be stopping by.” Nesta said grumpily, as she approached Mor, “I almost rushed at you just now.” Mor’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled in amusement as she regarded Nesta. 

“Oh, you almost rushed at me? I’m not sure that would’ve ended very well for you Nesta Archeron.” Mor said, cocking a brow. She had on dark boots and a thick red cloak outlined in black fur; her gold hair was tied behind her head in a bright halo, the flecks of snow catching in the gold waves. She looked beautiful, and Nesta felt her throat dry up a little.

Her sudden dry throat didn’t stop her from scoffing, however, and she walked right up to Mor. She avoided her warm brown eyes as she nudged her away from the door with her hip and unlocked the front door, then pushed inside without looking back. The house lights, magic crystals, lit up as soon as she entered the house and Nesta appreciated their efficiency. Nesta heard the door click shut behind her, and turned to Mor again, who was now standing just inside her entryway casually.

“Did my sister send you again?” She queried, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

Mor shook her head, “I did come to see you, but not because your sister asked me too.” She reached up and unclasped her cloak then, and through the opening Nesta saw an elegant red dress made of delicate lace along the arms and shoulders, a solid bodice and long flowing skirt. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Nesta said, her tone taking the coy quality she had learned potential lovers liked to hear. “Well then, ask away.”

Something seemed to flash in Mor’s eyes briefly before disappearing again, behind the controlled but warm façade she always wore. “Do you remember what you said to me at Rita’s two weeks ago?”

Nesta wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and she wasn’t going to start now. “Do you mean when I had the brilliant idea of going to bed with you?” She asked innocently, as if she weren’t contemplating sleeping with one of the most powerful people in the Night Court. “That conversation?” 

“So, you do remember.” Mor said, seeming to relax slightly as she took off her cloak and draped it over one of the tables surrounding Nesta’s small table. But then her eyes were intent on Nesta’s again when she spoke next: “were you serious about going through with it?”

Nesta blinked, she had thought she had been pretty clear, but the word, “What?” came out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Mor placed a hand on her right hip and cocked it, her expression serious. “Were you being genuine when you said that to me?”

“Why-” Nesta took a deep breath and crossed her arms, “yes I was being genuine.” A sudden thought crossed her mind and Nesta scowled, “does my offer _bother_ you that much?”

“What? No, of course not.” Mor said, surprised. “I just want to make sure you want this, and it’s not some drunken thing you said for the fun of it.”

“Well I do want it.” Nesta said, uncrossing her arms and prowling over to Mor. “I want to have sex with you. More than once if you’re up for it.” Nesta found Mor’s eyes with her own and she gazed into them, a coy smirk curling her lips. “Do you think you can keep up, Morrigan?”

Nesta reached out, and gently ran her fingers across the delicate lace of Mor’s dress. Mor seemed to stiffen in surprise as Nesta stroked across her shoulders and arms before resting her hands high on Mor’s chest. She leaned close, her nose brushing Mor’s, “I like to take charge, and I can be very demanding. And I’m going to make you forget your own name. Is that alright with you?” She smirked, her eyes trained on Mor’s surprised face, waiting for her reaction. 

There’s a brief silence then as Mor pauses, and then she snorts. “What?” Nesta scowls, and pulls back to look at Mor, who is looking at her with amusement, “what is _so_ funny?”

Mor’s eyes twinkle with mirth, but there’s something else swimming in them now. Something hungry and wanting, “You liar,” Mor whispers. Then she straightens and presses back into Nesta, her hands landing firmly on her hips. 

“I’m not-” Nesta starts, outraged, then Mor’s lips press against the skin of her throat and the words disappear with a small gasp. Mor’s lips are so soft, and she drags them against the patch of skin right underneath her ear. 

“Do you know what I think? I think you like to have control in every facet of your life Nesta,” Mor said her lips dragging downward. “But I think that when it comes to sex, you want someone else to have the control for once. That you want someone you trust to take the reins, so that you can let go.” Mor places a kiss on her neck, right against the vein in her throat that pulsed with her erratic heartbeat. “You want me to take you apart with my fingers,” Nesta feels Mor’s fingertips dig into her hips slightly, “with my mouth.” Mor presses her lips lower on Nesta’s neck, letting her teeth drag across the skin for the briefest second, and Nesta gasps with want. “But you’re too proud to ask me outright to fuck you how you want to be fucked. And you’re scared to trust me like that,” then Mor pulls back, her brown eyes darkened with desire and conviction. “But I’m not some random faerie. And I want you to have fun, and I want you to be comfortable, so let me take care of you, please.”

“I-” Nesta swallowed. Part of her wanted to push Mor away, to deny and snarl at her. She felt exposed, as if Mor had slipped past some walled up part of herself and seen something Nesta hadn’t wanted her to see, hadn’t wanted anyone to see. It made her uncomfortable, the sudden warmth she felt in her chest and her instincts, the ones that had kept her alive for all those years, screamed at her to _deny deny deny_. But another part of her, something deep inside of her crawled to the surface, and it craved what Mor was so ready to give. 

Nesta took a deep breath, grounding herself, and looked into nutmeg colored eyes. They were honest and open and warm, and for the first time in a long time Nesta felt something stir beneath her ribcage. She reached out, her fingers digging into the openings in Mor’s lace dress and she pulled her forward. “Okay” She whispered, “okay.”

As soon as the words left her, she was pushed back against the edge of the table, with Mor pinning her hips against the wood with her own. Nesta only had time to gasp before Mor kissed her soundly, silencing any other sounds.

Mor’s lips glided along hers easily, languidly, and with so much skill that it left Nesta breathless. Mor’s kisses weren’t slow, but they were thorough, and Nesta’s mind went blank when she felt the wet sensation of a tongue slide along her lower lip. Mor’s hands slid down her hips to her thighs and lifted Nesta easily, as if she weighed nothing, and set her on the table. 

Nesta gasped at the casual show of strength, but didn’t have time to comment because Mor’s lips had slid from her mouth to her neck again. Nesta felt the scrap of teeth against her skin before she felt Mor’s mouth close around her neck in a bite. Nesta’s fingers dug into Mor’s shoulders as she groaned, arching into her as Mor moved her mouth down her neck and sunk her teeth into soft flesh again. Mor kissed the spot between Nesta’s collarbones, right about the collar of her simple dress, while her left hand slid under Nesta’s skirt. Nesta moaned again, louder this time, when Mor leaned forward, her hand sliding up over Nesta’s knee to her thigh. 

Nesta bucked her hips, a low whine leaving her lips at the soft touches along her leg. She was so wet, and Mor was taking her sweet time. Nesta arched into Mor again, her hand sliding up to Mor’s neck, her fingers burrowing into Mor’s thick gold curls. Nesta didn’t realize how far back she was leaning on the tabletop until she felt the wood underneath her back and Mor hovered over her, her eyes blown with desire and want.

Nesta stared into her eyes, pale blue to brown, and didn’t look away as Mor shifted her hand up, and pulled her underwear down her thighs. Nesta leaned forward and helped push the rest of the garment down past her calves and off, and when she straightened Mor kissed her. Her lips slanted against Nesta’s at the exact moment her fingers slid against her folds. Nesta let out a gasp that tapered off into a high-pitched whine as Mor stroked between her lips and then up to lightly circle her clit before sliding down and away. Nesta couldn’t form a coherent thought; Mor’s fingers were pressing and stroking in all the right place, but she wasn’t where Nesta needed her to be.

Nesta pulled her mouth away and stared Mor down, her fingers gripping her shoulders hard. “Inside,” she gasped, “put them inside.”

Mor stared right back, her expression remaining the same hungry look she was giving her before, and cocked her eyebrow at her. “Ask me nicely.” She stated, sliding two fingers up Nesta’s folds again teasingly.

“Oh, don’t you dare-” Nesta started, but her tapered off into a high-pitched whine as Mor suddenly pressed down against her clit.

“I said,” Mor whispered, leaning forward so her lips hovered next to Nest’s left ear. “Ask me nicely.” Then she slid her other hand to Nesta’s hip, gripping it tightly and holding it in place.

Nesta didn’t think it was possible but she felt herself get even wetter at the quiet command. Nesta tried to buck her hips into Mor’s hand, but the other woman was gripping her hard enough to keep her from moving and Nesta whimpered at the casual show of power. Mor then circled her fingers around Nesta’s clit so painstakingly slow that Nesta wanted to scream; she felt the tension low in her belly and she desperately wanted release. So, Nesta cupped the back of Mor’s neck in one hand, and braced herself on top of the table, and gave in.

“Please,” she begged quietly, “please put your fingers inside me.” Nesta faintly felt Mor’s lips curl in a satisfied smile, and she had half a mind to swear at her, but she felt two fingers suddenly curl inside her and all other thoughts dissolved.

Mor curled her fingers, and started thrusting in a much faster pace than Nesta had been anticipating. Nesta yelped in surprise and dug her fingers into Mor’s dress, probably leaving half-moon crescents underneath the fabric. Her orgasm came out of nowhere and Nesta didn’t realize how close she was until she was clenching around Mor’s fingers and letting out a surprised moan. 

Mor kept thrusting her fingers through the aftershocks, slowing down her pace while Nesta’s walls twitched and convulsed around her digits. Nesta whined softly when Mor pulled her fingers out, and watched as Mor brought her fingers up to her mouth. Mor’s brown eyes met hers, as she brought her hand to her mouth and sucked her fingers clean. Nesta felt her pussy clench, a fresh bolt of arousal pooling low in her belly, and she wanted those talented fingers inside her again. The feeling was so intense, that her breathing sped up again as she watched Mor, who seemed completely unbothered by Nesta’s flustered state.

“Are you done?” Nesta finally asked, sliding to the edge of the table, her hands holding onto the wood to keep herself upright as her knees shook.

Mor cocked her head to the side, considering. It was all posturing however, because Mor stepped forward, her hand tracing up Nesta’s thigh. Nesta felt the wetness from Mor’s mouth still on her fingers, and her hips jerked forward of their own accord. Mor smiled at that, and Nesta felt her pussy clench with want again.

“No.” Mor said, leaning forward and brushing her nose lightly against Nesta’s pulse point. It made Nesta shiver. “I’m just getting started.”

______________

Nesta woke early in the morning, to the sound of rustling clothes.

She rolled over on her bed and saw the sunlight streaming through the windows, the shutters hanging open against the wall. Next, she saw Mor, who seemed to have just finished buttoning up the last few buttons on her dress. Her hair was wild and slightly disheveled, and the sunlight gave her light brown skin a golden hue and highlighted the freckles on her cheeks. She combed a hand through her hair idly, and in the process she spotted Nesta staring and smiled. It wasn’t an awkward smile that Nesta received from lovers who wanted to leave as soon as they were done, nor was it a smile born out of sympathy. It was different, and something in Nesta’s chest responded to it.

“You’re up early.” Nesta said, leaning back on her hands and arching her back slightly, emphasizing her cleavage.

She saw Mor’s eyes sweep across her torso appreciatively before they made their way back to Nesta’s eyes. “I have to get back to Court I’m afraid.” She said, “I can never stay away for long.”

“I didn’t think you would stay the night.” Nesta stated, swinging her legs off the side and standing up. She stretched her arms up and felt that delicious soreness in every muscle, particularly between her legs. Mor really hadn’t been kidding when she said she was just getting started, because she had winnowed them up to Nesta’s bed and spent the rest of the night fucking her until she couldn’t form words. Nesta had lost track of how many times she orgasmed, and only got the chance to reciprocate twice before she fell asleep. Mor was thorough to say the least.

And now here she was, dressed in her gown from the night before, slightly disheveled but radiant in the sunlight. She chuckled a little as she regarded Nesta appraisingly, her eyes roving up and down her form. “I hadn’t planned on staying either, but I ended up falling asleep anyways. But now I have to go.” Nesta nodded as Mor tied her hair up again, and made her way to the doorway leading downstairs. 

“What about-” Nesta motioned between them, not really knowing what to call this thing between them. “This. Am I supposed to call on you in Court or-”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Mor said lightly, but there was a note of seriousness in her gaze. “But I don’t think having a set day would be a good idea, because I never know what problems will crop up in the Hewn City next.” She frowned, her hand rubbing her chin in thought. “I think we’ll just have to write to each other.”

It was Nesta’s turn to frown then, “Write to each other? You mean there are fae that deliver mail to you?”

Mor chuckled again, and the sound warmed Nesta. “No, but my ravens will deliver our letters to each other.” 

“Why ravens?” Nesta asked. 

“They’re special to me, and they will do what I ask.” She said simply, as if that answer made any sense. Nesta scowled at her, and Mor cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge. 

“Forgive me if I’m a little doubtful, but they are birds.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate them if I were you.” Mor glanced at the sun perched in the sky beyond Nesta’s bedroom window and sighed. “I really do have to go.” She turned to Nesta then, “ask for Nemain, and she’ll come find you.”

“You’re really going to trust our correspondence to a pet raven?” Nesta asked incredulous.

Mor smiled again, “she’s a little more than a pet, and I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t think it a good idea. Do you have a better one?” She asked, eyebrow quirking.

Nesta scowled again, crossing her arms in annoyance. “No,” she ground out “I don’t.”

“Just trust me.” Mor said, surprisingly gentle as she passed through the doorway. Once she reached the top of the stairs she paused and turned around, her eyes meeting Nesta’s. “Until we meet again, Nesta Archeron.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a long time flip flopping between scenes because i wasn't sure what to include and what not to include. And then midterms happened and I was swamped with schoolwork which is why this took so long. Sorry about that guys but I hope you liked this chapter! As always you can find me @shadehunters on tumblr


	4. Chapter 3

Despite all of her many qualms about the city, even Nesta could admit Velaris was pretty during the evening.

She had perched herself on the side of the bridge, The Rainbow, which is what Feyre called it. She gazed passively at the buildings lining the river: fae architecture was similar to human architecture ever so slightly different. In Velaris, buildings were more circular, and they were much taller than anything she had ever experienced in her hometown. Homes, bars, guilds, and shops all looked as if they were expertly carved from dark granite and wood, fashioned into delicate spirals and arches. The buildings often had patterns, pictures, and words in a language Nesta didn’t understand carved into them. Compared to the pragmatic houses built out of oak and stone structures that dominated the human world, Velaris, and maybe the rest of the faerie realm, looked like a fantasy world.

Except this wasn’t a fantasy. Nesta was really here, probably for the rest of her life, and there was no going back. She clenched her gloved hands together and swallowed the wave of sadness that surged up. 

She would not get upset. Not now, and especially not while standing on a bridge that had been named _The Rainbow_. As she turned and started walking, she lightly bumped into a fae man who was strolling in the opposite direction. 

“Pardon me.” She said quickly, keeping her head down.

“Oh, no I wasn’t looking-” the man paused, “have I seen you before?” He asked, in confusion.

Nesta tugged her hood up and didn’t stop walking. “No, I’m afraid not.” Nesta walked briskly across the rest of the bridge and then turned a corner and slipped into the closest narrow alleyway she could find to breathe a sigh of relief.

She liked keeping a low profile in the city; the Archeron sisters were known throughout the Night Court for fighting in the war. That, and anyone with eyes would be able to tell she was related to the High Lady, which meant she was either accosted by people praising Feyre and Rhysands name or worse: she might have fae men and women bow their heads in deference and maybe shyly asking her about how she valiantly fought in the war against Hybern.

Any talk about the war, especially the former King, made Nesta supremely uncomfortable. On a good day, it just made her feel like shit. She only fought in the war so she could settle the score with the King, and these people looked up to her as a hero. 

On other occasions, she would remember the life the King took from her, of the darkness of the cauldron, and it sent her into a sobbing fit or she became short of breath. Sometimes both. 

Right now, she just wanted to be invisible.

And she stayed that way, until she arrived at her destination. The tavern wasn’t the cleanest in all the city; in fact, the floors were stained with beer and whiskey, and the patrons were bawdy, rude, and obnoxious, but the cook served the richest stew Nesta had ever tried. The liquor didn’t taste very good but was strong enough to get her head buzzing after just three drinks, so it was perfect for her. Not only that, but there were games going on throughout the tavern, and she could play dice or rummy all night long. But most of all, nobody stopped to ask her too many questions or look at her too closely. It was perfect. 

Nesta pulled open the door and slipped inside the tavern. It was packed tonight, with a large swarm of fae men and women standing watching games or chatting away with each other. It was warm inside, with a large fire burning away in a large stone fireplace on the far side of the wall. To her right was the bar, where two barmaids were pouring out drinks to patrons who were clearly deep in their cups already. 

Nesta made her way to the back where a game of Liar’s Dice was already underway. She sat back and watched as the two players rolled their numbers and made her bids in her head as she saw their results. She watched them for two rounds, just observing, and taking in every detail before speaking

“I play winner.” She announced, watching as the fae man closest to her frowned at his dice and announced he didn’t make his bid. She felt the eyes of the other fae circled around the men turn to her, but she kept her eyes on the players at the table.

“Oh really?” The other player, another man, looked up and fixed her with a calculating stare. He had a thick blonde beard, a sharp pointed nose, the common pointed ears of the fae, and eyes that were all silver. “What makes you think you can beat me?”

“I have a sense for these things,” she said shrugging. 

“Oh? Well then by all means lass, join me at the table.” He said motioning towards the seat that the other fae was still perched in. The other fae man, he had a slight bluish tint to his skin, sighed and vacated the seat and marched off towards the bar in a dejected manner. Nesta pulled the chair out and sat down, hands on the table. “I take it you know how to play Liar’s Dice?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I’m familiar.” Nesta replied, reaching for the cups holding the dice. 

“Good, good,” he said. “Now, make your bet lass.”

______________

About half an hour later, Nesta had a bag of coin the size of a man’s fist in her hand and a slight spring in her step. The fae man, whose name she found out was Artrin, had lost to her in a couple rounds because she knew when to call him on his dice rolls and called it correctly every time. A small part of her felt bad, after all it wasn’t his fault he had a very obvious tell. She left the fae man baffled and with her winnings in her hand. 

She had always been good at unravelling patterns as a child, and even better at spotting a trick. That’s really all games were, just elaborate patterns and tricks. When she was a child, her father noticed that she always seemed to win at the board games against her sisters and mother and had taken it upon himself to teach her how to read money ledgers, work timetables, and read legal jargon. _You will make your family very rich one day my girl,_ he had said. _Any man you marry would be lucky to have such a competent wife looking at his books._ At the time, she had preened with the praise. Now, the memory just left a bad taste in her mouth.

Nesta’s frown deepened and she pulled her cloak tighter around her. She needed to stop thinking about her family. At the moment, any thought of them only served to give her a headache. She had just won a chunk of money in a game, and by all accounts should be feeling content. But all she felt was angry. Angry and tired and empty. 

Her mind wandered then; she thought of slim hands, cunning brown eyes, and rosy full lips and Nesta shuddered. Mor had touched her with the so much confidence and prowess; she drew out Nesta’s pleasure until she was reduced to incoherent whimpers. She felt a shiver crawl up her spine at the thought of Mor’s hands on her again, and she felt heat snake through her. She needed Mor, right now. 

She remembered what Mor said before. _Call for Nemain,_ is what she told her. But how exactly could calling for a raven work? She had known ravens on the human side of the wall; they were just birds who picked clean the carrion on the side of the road and Nesta found it mildly irritating that she was supposed to put her faith in a bird.

“This is ridiculous.” Nesta muttered to herself, and it did seem very ridiculous. But writing a letter to Mor was out of the question because of who might intercept it, and she didn’t know how to winnow. So, she took a deep breath and looked around. The small streets were virtually empty except for the snow and wind; many fae had already retired for the evening to the warmth of their homes with their families. 

Seeing that she was alone, Nesta called out. “Nemain?” 

There was no answer, just the sound of wind swirling across the cobblestone street. Nesta swore to herself and said, a little louder than before, “Nemain the Raven?”

Again, no answer. Nesta swore and tried scratched the back of her neck in frustration. As she was contemplating just running to court, there was strong gust of wind accompanied by loud wing beats. Nesta turned and felt the cold wind blast her in the face, he hair and cloak blowing back in the wind, and when she looked up, she saw two massive gray eyes staring back at her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming out as she staggered back against the brick wall of the building behind her. Perched on top of the building in front of her was a massive black raven.

“You’re Nemain?” Nesta asked apprehensively, pushing off the wall and facing the bird. The creature in question made a sound of acknowledgement, a cross between a coo and a purr. 

“So, you’re the raven then.” Nesta said, trying to get ahold of her racing heart. Nemain cocked her head to the side curiously, seeming to assess Nesta with her strange eyes. She was easily twice, maybe three times the size of a horse, with two large black claws gripping onto the side of the roof. Her feathers were sleek and dark, and seemed to shimmer with a faint iridescence that looked almost red in the light. 

She swallowed and took what she hoped was a calming breath. “Mor told me to call on you if I wanted to see her,” Nesta said. “Will you take me to her?”

Nemain inclined her head slightly, and then jerked it to the left. It was a clear indication that if Nesta wanted passage to court, she would have to climb up, because the sidewalks were far too narrow for a creature of Nemain’s bulk. Nesta groaned and swore.

“You have got to be kidding me.” She said giving the bird a withering look. Nemain gazed back at her impassively, not at all bothered by Nesta’s complaints. “Shit.” She groaned, knowing exactly what she needed to do 

Nesta backed up against the wall again, only this time she took a running start and leapt toward the side of the building. For anybody who grew up as fae, this would have been easy enough to maneuver, but her strength and dexterity was still new for her and hard to control. Her fingers found the edge of the tiled roof but in the process the right side of her ribs collided with the wall and the hissed out a breath in pain. She scrabbled against the side of the building trying to pull herself up, until she felt herself being gently lifted by her cloak and deposited on the roof. 

Nesta huffed and blew a strand of her hair out of her face. “You could have done that earlier.” She hissed, glaring at Nemain. The bird gazed back at her still impassive, though Nesta could’ve swore she saw a note of amusement in her gray eyes. About twenty different bird-related insults came to the forefront of her mind, but Nesta bit them all back. She could swear at the raven later. 

Nesta pushed herself to her feet shakily, keeping her balance on the slanted roof and slippery tile. Nemain cocked her head to the right, as if to say, well hurry up and get on. Nesta huffed before marching forward. She grabbed a handful of Nemain’s feathers and pulled herself up onto the raven’s large back. Nemain let out a quiet caw in annoyance, probably feeling that Nesta had tugged too hard on her feathers. 

“Don’t you start with me,” Nesta grumbled as she tried to get situated. When she had a good hold on Nemain, she took a nervous breath. “Can you take me to Morrigan now?”

Then Nemain unfurled her wings, and Nesta didn’t ever think she’d forget watching the pair of massive dark wings unwind on either side of her. Before Nesta had time to really marvel at the size of them, Nemain was bringing them down, and suddenly she was soaring into the night sky.

______________

Mor swirled the wine in her glass, gazing over the notes she had been given from one of her contacts in the Court of Nightmares. She was seated at her desk in her office that sat adjacent to her bedroom. She faintly heard the rush of wind outside the balcony doors to her left and let the sound calm her as she poured over the papers in front of her. The pages consisted of many notes on the deals and supposed alliances of the families within the Court, and her contact had carefully written out Keir’s movements. The Court of Nightmares would officially be released from their underground banishment tomorrow evening, but Mor was dubious about the whole affair. 

When the war with Hybern was coming close to a boiling point, Rhysand had come to her with a request about Keir. She had allowed for Rhys to make the deal in the end; she had told him that getting the legion of Darkbringers on their side was more important than her family’s sins. But now her father, and other fae like her father, would be allowed access to Velaris, her city. It made her very uneasy. 

She had no doubt in her mind that Keir had ulterior motives to wanting to be in Velaris. Her father was never just content with parties or the fun bawdiness that could be found in Velaris. No, Keir liked power; he loved having it, and he fought tooth and nail to hold on to it. There was a game afoot, and she knew he wanted to win. For Keir, being able to leave the Court was just his first move in this game, and Mor wanted to be ready when he moved his next piece into place. 

She took another sip of her wine, marked a couple names she hadn’t seen before, and made a note to visit the Underdark Market. There was all sort of valuable gossip at a market after all, especially one that was part of the Court. 

The sound of the wind suddenly grew louder and Mor looked up to see a disheveled looking Nesta sitting astride her raven. Mor got up and went to the doors, pulled the lock, and opened one to the cool night air. 

“Hello Nemain,” Mor said smiling. “I hope the flight wasn’t too much trouble.”

The raven gave an answering caw and pulled away from the balcony slightly. Then she beat her wings once, rising a little over the balcony railing and allowing Nesta to slip off and place her feet on the railing. Mor walked over and helped her down, one hand on her elbow and the other on her waist.

“Thank you Nemain, please return to your hollow. I will call for you if I need more assistance.” Mor waved her hand, and the raven bowed it head in deference before flapping her wings and taking off into the night. As soon as Nemain was out of sight, Mor turned towards Nesta who looked disheveled and very put out. She had a couple dark strands from Nemain’s feathers in her brown hair, and her pale eyes were glaring at her.

Mor smiled innocently, opening the door wide for Nesta to slip through. The eldest Archeron sister passed through without a word, and Mor closed the door with a click. 

“I take it the flight was a little turbulent?” Mor asked, unable to resist poking at Nesta a little. The woman in question glowered at Mor as she unclasped her inconspicuous green cloak. She was wearing a lavender dress; with the sleeves buttoned at her wrists and laced in the back. 

“The flight was fine,” Nesta said still glowering, “I just thought, oh I don’t know, that your bird would simply winnow me here instead of flying me through the winter air, nearly freezing me to death.” She stated, hands on her hips.

“In all fairness, I suggested my raven deliver your _letters,_ not your entire person.” Mor said wryly. “Although, if she brought you here to me, it would make this arrangement a little easier.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking-” she cut off and Mor saw her mouth work. “Straight.” Nesta said finally, crossing her arms. 

Mor cocked her head to the side; Nesta wasn’t looking at her, and her cheeks were now a little flushed. She noticed that Nesta was tense and a little stiff, and Mor had good reason to believe it was anticipation, not anger.

“Is there something you want?” She asked lightly, fixing Nesta with a stare. She saw Nesta turn to look at her slowly, her pale eyes switching between staring at her eyes and mouth.

“I think you know why I’m here.” Nesta said, avoiding the question altogether.

Mor tutted, and moved closer, slowing her movements so that Nesta felt every inch she was closer. “I want to hear why you decided to show up unannounced in my study in the middle of the night.” Mor said, taking another step closer. “I want to hear you say it Nesta.”

Nesta took another breath, her eyes tracking Mor’s movements toward her. “I want to- I want it. Again.” She said, her eyes finally fixing on Mor’s again. They were a little defiant, but her pupils had expanded with desire and Mor felt a little thrill go up her spine. 

Mor took another step closer, “you want what” and another. “What do you want me to do Nesta?” and another. “You are always so clear about how you feel.” Another step. “What’s made you so tongue tied now?” Nesta was right in front of her now, her fingers digging into her elbows as she looked at Mor. Mor watched as Nesta bit her lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly at Mor’s proximity.

Mor curled one hand around Nesta’s right elbow and leaned forward, her other hand at her side, and brushed her nose across Nesta’s cheek. Nesta gasped, as Mor lightly dragged her lips down her jaw to her neck, where she placed a single kiss against her pulse. “Maybe,” Mor said, “you are looking for something.”

Nesta shivered, and Mor felt her body sway just a little bit closer to hers. Her hands reached out, long fingers curling around the collar of the white shirt Mor had thrown on over her umber breeches that evening. “I want you,” Nesta breathed in and turned to look Mor in the eye, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Mor grinned, and finally slid her hands down until they were cupping Nesta’s waist and tugged her flush against her body. Nesta inhaled sharply but didn’t have time to say anything, before Mor’s mouth was on her. Mor loved kissing; loved the way it could make toes curl, how the feeling of lips made her stomach flip, and the sounds just a little kiss could elicit, and Mor really liked the sounds Nesta made when she kissed her.

Mor tilted her head and tugged Nesta’s lower lip between her teeth, and the older Archeron let out a gasp as Mor released her lip with a last little tug. Mor tilted her head to the other side and slid her lips against Nesta’s again. She let her tongue slip between Nesta’s and licked the inside of her mouth hungrily. Nesta all but melted against her at the sensation, her hands tightening around Mor’s neck.

She began to walk them backwards, pressing forward and guiding Nesta towards her bed in the next room carefully, her hands sliding up to press into Nesta’s lower back. Nesta was restless in her arms, almost as if she couldn’t wait for what was coming next. It made Mor restless in return, but in a different way. She was worked up from the fact that they had not even apart for a day and Nesta wanted her again, wanted to feel her inside and touching her all over again. Maybe she had been thinking about her all day, waiting for the night so that she could pull Mor into bed again. The idea that Nesta had been thinking about the last bought of sex they had for hours thrilled Mor, it made her just a little bit cocky.

“My dress,” Nesta said breathlessly as Mor moved her mouth and dragged her lips down her neck. “the laces- you have to untie them in the back-” Nesta broke off with a soft cry as Mor nipped at the space between her throat and collarbone, Nesta’s arms tightening around her shoulders. 

“Eager, are we?” Mor said lowly, brushing over the red mark she just left on Nesta’s neck. “Turn around.” She said, feeling Nesta shiver in her arms before turning around obediently. Mor briefly entertained the thought of just ripping open the laces to save time but decided against it. After all, it was more fun to make her wait. So, Mor unbuttoned the little buttons on Nesta’s wrists and then slowly began to untie the knots in the back of the dress, letting her breath ghost over Nesta’s skin.

“Hurry up.” Nesta hissed, as Mor began to pull the sides apart. She paused, her lips quirking. She really did like it when her partners got impatient, it made her that much more excited. 

“No.” Mor said, her hands falling away from bodice of Nesta’s dress. Nesta inhaled sharply and started to turn around, Mor caught her expression from the side; outraged and a little desperate. “I want you to ask me nicely like you did the last time.” That was part of the fun for Mor, building the anticipation, it thrilled her to no end. 

“I’m not-” Nesta started but cut off with a gasp as one of Mor’s hands slipped down to her inner thigh, while the other stayed firmly planted on her left hip.

“When you told me ‘please’ the last time, it was so pretty and sweet.” Mor whispered, her lips trailing over the back of Nesta’s neck. Nesta squirmed in her hands, and Mor felt her hips press back into hers, looking for a little friction. “I want to hear it again.” She used her hips to grind a little against Nesta’s, and the woman gasped and gripped the hand on her leg.

Nesta squirmed against her grip more, but Mor was strong and her hands on her body were warm. “I- you-” she stammered but broke off with a loud moan as Mor bit her shoulder a little harder than before, sinking her teeth in enough and sucking to leave a bruise. “Please.” She gasped finally, into the quiet of the room. “Please take this fucking dress off and fuck me, please.” She whined, her breath coming in short gasps.

Mor grinned behind her, satisfaction and anticipation rolling through her. “Good girl,” she heard herself purr, and Nesta shivered again. Mor then reached for the laces and finished untying them. She pulled the garment over Nesta’s head, and Nesta responded by turning around and pulling her chemise off as well so she was naked from the waist up. Mor barely had enough time to admire her before Nesta had launched herself forward and kissed her.

This kiss was heated and desperate, with Nesta’s tongue tracing her lips quickly. Nesta reached for Mor’s waist; she felt her short nails scratch at her hipbones before gripping the bottom of her shirt and pulling it up and off quickly. Then Nesta’s arms were around her again and her lips were on her neck.

Mor slid her hands down and gripped Nesta’s thighs and with no strain, lifted Nesta up against her and she gasped against her mouth. As she walked the over to the bed, she felt Nesta’s warm core against her stomach through her underthings, and it made her turn her head to kiss Nesta fiercely, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. She set Nesta gently down on the bed and reached for the undergarment around her waist and tugged it off, throwing it somewhere behind her.

Now Nesta sat bare, and on her bed, flushed from head to toe and panting. Mor watched the rise and fall of her chest, her breasts moving and her nipples straining in the cool air. Slowly, Mor prowled forward, her eyes on Nesta’s as she crawled forward on her hands and knees toward her. She wandered up the bed until she was millimeters away from Nesta, she felt the other woman’s breath on her lips and smiled at the feeling. 

Nesta reached up and pulled Mor forward and down, kissing her and weaving her fingers into her hair, messing up her carefully pinned curls. Mor didn’t care, because she had moved her mouth down to Nesta’s neck again and placed kisses delicately along the column of her throat. Nesta writhed underneath her; her hands running across Mor’s back and down her biceps and across her shoulders. Mor, however, wanted to take a little more time. Riling up her partners was always good, but Nesta was especially responsive to her ministrations.

It was delicious.

Mor moved down further, shifting her weight to one arm and planting a kiss on the top of Nesta’s right breast. Nesta moaned and planted her hands on Mor’s shoulders, “Mor, please,” she gasped. It was all Mor needed to hear, because as soon as the words left Nesta’s lips Mor tilted her head and sucked a nipple into her mouth. Nesta’s back arched, a loud moan leaving her lips as Mor laved at her nipple with her tongue, then sucked on the bud. Mor felt Nesta’s fingers digging into her shoulders again, her hips rolling and searching for friction. Mor made sure to keep her legs just out of reach of Nesta’s searching hips, as she switched to Nesta’s other breast, giving it the same careful treatment as the other. 

Nesta’s body was so warm, and her nerve endings seemed to spark and set fire to her skin every place Mor touched her. It seemed transforming into a faerie heightened all of her senses, including those of pleasure. Either that or Mor was just very good at this.

Mor released her nipple with an audible pop and moved away from her chest and down towards her stomach. Nesta propped herself on her elbows and watched Mor shift down her body; she dragged her lips across the expanse of Nesta’s skin, gently over her stomach and abdomen before pausing. Nesta watched as she placed a kiss on the inside of her hipbone, then gasped as she felt the scrape of teeth against her skin. 

“Morrigan,” she moaned softly, her eyes slamming shut and hips shifting against the sheets as Mor’s lips dragged lightly to the inside of her thigh. Nesta reached down and tangled her fingers in Mor’s hair as the other nipped at the sensitive flesh of her thighs. 

“Look at me Nesta,” Mor breathed. Nesta opened her eyes and saw that Mor had pulled her legs over her shoulders and had positioned herself between Nesta’s legs. Nesta focused on Mor’s face and her eyes were alight with arousal and desire. In the dim candle-light it almost looked as if Mor’s eyes had turned a dark red color, shining like garnets. It made her shiver. Mor kept eye contact with her as she leaned forward. Nesta felt her warm breath on her cunt and her own breathing picked up in anticipation as she felt Mor’s lips brush her. 

“Please,” Nesta whispered again, her back arching. Suddenly Mor’s mouth was on her center, licking and stroking with her tongue and Nesta groaned.

______________

Mor reached up with her hands and gripped Nesta’s shifting hips as she ran her tongue up the length of Nesta’s cunt. Nesta fell back against the pillows and gripped the sheets as Mor worked her over with her mouth; Mor never hit a pattern, she alternated between circling Nesta’s clit, pressing against it lightly, or tracing her outer lips with her tongue. 

Nesta was writhing against her again, and Mor used her strength to keep Nesta’s lower half pinned to the bed as she worked over her with her tongue. Mor never found a pace; instead she was content with exploring Nesta’s opening, licking and circling and pressing where she knew she would get a reaction, but never actually picking a rhythm. It was driving Nesta crazy. 

“Fuck” she said, her catching with another sweep of Mor’s tongue. She was desperately trying to articulate what she wanted, but Mor was distracting her. This Queen was, admittedly, very good with her tongue. Mor paused her ministrations and Nesta very nearly screamed at the loss of contact. She reached down to push her back, but Mor grabbed both her wrists and pinned them to the bed. Nesta pulled herself up slightly and craned to look down at Mor who didn’t say anything, she just gazed back at her expectantly. Nesta didn’t know why she stopped or how to make her continue until the message clicked. Ask me for what you want and I’ll give it to you, Mor’s eyes said, and she would wait all night and drive Nesta mad until she heard the words she wanted to hear.

Nesta bit her lip as she gazed at Mor, their gazes locked and intense. She felt the temperature in the room rise a little more the longer Mor regarded her with her hooded gaze. Nesta swallowed, gripped the bed sheets, and said the words she never thought she would ever say. “I want you to make me come.” She breathed, “with your tongue and your mouth.” She let out a shuddering breath then, “please.”

She didn’t look at Mor, but she knew she was smiling as she leaned down again. Nesta distantly hated how needy she sounded, but when Mor told her to ask it was the hottest thing she had ever experienced. This time when Mor put her mouth on her cunt, there was no teasing. Mor hit a rhythm right away, alternating between circling Nesta’s clit closely and pressing, before moving down and sliding through her opening. 

Nesta’s back arched as she moaned loudly, her hips grinding against Mor’s face and gripping the bedsheets so tightly her knuckles turned white. Mor was relentless, her tongue moved against Nesta’s cunt without pausing or stopping. Nesta rolled her hips eagerly into her face, and Mor released her hands in order to hold onto her hips and thighs as Nesta moved with her tongue. With a final sweep and press of her tongue, Nesta felt herself arch off the bed as her release hit her. It felt as if her nerve endings had caught fire and her body tingled with pinpricks of heat as Mor worked her gently through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Nesta laid there on the bed breathing heavily, and Mor crawled her way up the bed so she was side by side with Nesta. 

“You seemed very wound up there.” Mor asked lightly, a small smile on her lips as she regarded Nesta coyly. “Did I manage to, ah- ‘Scratch your itch?’”

Nesta rolled her eyes as she turned her head to face Mor. “How do you know that phrase? It’s a human one you know.”

Mor shrugged, “I picked it up from Feyre.” 

Her answer was surprisingly normal and Nesta let out a surprised chuckle. Mor blinked at her in surprise before her face softened, and her lips curled into a small but soft smile. Nesta felt something in her chest, her heart maybe, make one strong beat against her ribcage in response. Then she gripped the feeling and shoved it down deep, and wrapped her arms around Mor, rolling them over.

Mor, now positioned on her back, gazed up at Nesta pensively, her hands lightly stroking Nesta’s thighs. “Again?” She asked simply, her pupils beginning to dilate again. 

“Again.” Nesta stated, “but first you need to take these off.” She tugged at Mor’s trousers to emphasize her point, and the woman beneath her chuckled but obliged her request. Nesta got off Mor long enough for the other woman to shuck off her pants before Nesta straddled her again. But this time she only straddled Mor’s left thigh, and in a moment of boldness, pressed her own leg against Mor’s wet center.

The smile slid off of Mor’s face as she groaned at the contact. Nesta felt just how wet Mor was against her leg and felt her own pussy clench against Mor’s thigh in response. She is so gorgeous, she thought distantly as she leaned forward and braced her hands on either side of Mor’s head. 

Nesta rocked her hips forward slowly, trying to figure out a rhythm. She started to feel a little unsure at the speed of her movements; admittedly she had only had a couple partners before Morrigan, and she had never gotten the chance to be on top like this. Mor seemed to sense her hesitance and kissed across her cheek toward her ear.

“That’s it.” She husked as she nipped her earlobe, “go faster Nesta, I know you want too.” Nesta whimpered in response at the encouragement and rocked her hips faster. Mor grabbed her hips and matched her rhythm, thrust for thrust against her. Nesta felt the hard lines of muscle and sinew grinding against her clit from Mor’s thigh and she felt the molten heat begin to build inside her again. 

Mor’s teeth scraped along her neck as she bucked her hips against Nesta’s leg, and she groaned into her ear. She felt Mor’s hands slide from her hips to her ass, squeezing the soft flesh and tugging her forward, forcing Nesta’s sex against her thigh and forcing Nesta’s leg to press against her own cunt. It was wet and dirty, and so incredibly hot that Nesta’s legs started to shake as she felt her second orgasm creep up on her.

“Oh fuck,” Nesta moaned as she slid and pressed herself against Mor. The other woman underneath her griped her ever tighter and moaned in response. _I am going to have bruises all over from this_ Nesta thought distantly as she felt Mor bite at her collarbone. Then, to her surprise, Nesta felt Mor’s body tense and then arch off the bed as she groaned loudly in her ear, her body shaking. Nesta could feel the wetness coating her thigh at Mor’s release, could smell it on her skin, and the thought drove her a little wild.

She felt Mor relax slightly against the sheets, smiling with her eyes closed, but Nesta didn’t stop moving. She lost herself for a moment as she rocked her hips against Mor with reckless abandon, not bothering to stop the small whimpers that left her lips. “Look at me, Nesta,” Mor whispered. When she did, Mor’s deep brown eyes were trained on her face, and she shivered at the intensity. Mor put her hands on Nesta’s hips once again, and pulled her forward on her thigh, bending her knee slightly to help with the movement.

Nesta felt the tension coiling inside her and she reached out, planting one hand on the side of Mor’s head and the other on her chest as she rode Morrigan’s thigh. Below her, she could see Mor watching her, her chest heaving and the muscles of her abdomen flexing as she moved with her. Nesta locked eyes with Mor, and as Mor pulled her forward one more time, and she came again. Nesta fell forward and bit Mor’s shoulder to muffle her scream once her movements become jerky and uncoordinated as she rode out her orgasm.

She lay there against Mor, just feeling the woman beneath her breathe and staying in her warmth. She felt Mor’s arms come up and rest on her back, just holding her against her gently. For a split second, Nesta thought she should brush her arms off, but then Mor began rubbing gentle circles against her spine and decided against it. 

She could stay like this for a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god this took forever! Sorry about that guys, but I was doing two shows this year and they sucked up every ounce of free time I had. But here's chapter 3 in all its glory, I hope you liked it!
> 
> As always, @shadehunters on tumblr if you wanna come yell at me


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more exposition and story than smut i'm afraid, but be not concerned, the sexy times will not stop my friends.

Morrigan woke up to a soft, but firm, knock at her doors.

The sun had risen maybe a few hours ago, and the bright rays had come through the windows, illuminating the purple bed sheets and clothes on the floor. Mor turned her head to the right, only to be met with brown hairs tickling her face. She took a second to take in the sight before her; Nesta was tucked into the crook of her neck, her breathing even and right arm thrown loosely over Mor’s waist. She looked different in her sleep; her face and shoulders were relaxed and she looked so peaceful that, for a moment, Mor wanted to lean back and keep sleeping. 

The knock came again, and Mor blew out an annoyed breath. If someone was bothering her at this hour, then it was something that needed her attention. 

As carefully as she could, Mor gently slid out from under Nesta’s warm and sleeping body. Once she pulled her arms away, Nesta shifted slightly and made a soft indignant noise; Mor was worried she had woken her up before Nesta stilled again and Mor smiled at the reaction. 

Quietly, Mor pulled on her trousers from the night before, and threw on her favorite maroon dressing gown. She padded through her office, then sitting room, before reaching the dark doors that were her entryway. She and Rhysand had official quarters in the mountain; Rhys and Feyre took up the topmost level, and Mor had the second level, while the rest of the mountain consisted of meeting rooms, the treasury, and the Hewn City itself. Mor knew that Rhys preferred his townhouse and forest manor to the mountain residence, but Mor liked her quarters. They were spacious and view of the lands was incredible. Plus, this kept her close to the comings and goings of both the courts, which is where she needed to be if she wanted to stay ahead of the game. Mor reached the doors and pulled one open.

On the other side was Azriel. 

He was dressed in his usual dark flying leathers with his large wings folded carefully behind him. Everyone always had a hard time reading Azriel’s moods; he was like a wall of stone, never letting anything in or out. And right now, he was giving her the same unreadable look he always gave, but Mor caught his nostrils flaring ever so slightly and knew something wasn’t quite right. Azriel was hard to read for anyone but his friends.

“What’s wrong?” She asked carefully. 

Azriel squared his shoulders, “our spies found something you need to see.” Then he closed his mouth and stared back at Mor expectantly. Azriel was always like that, short but to the point. It’s why she always thought of him as a good friend, he always said what needed to be said without any extra verbiage attached to it. 

“I need to freshen up. Stay here and I will be back in ten minutes.” She said, her mind already racing as to what exactly she was going to see from Azriel’s contacts.

Azriel tilted his head, and she watched as he took a deep breath. Without saying a word, he cocked a brow at her in mild surprise. Mor narrowed her eyes at him. Sometimes it was incredibly inconvenient how sensitive fae senses were. 

“Do not ask me about it, and do not tell Cassian or Rhys I was with someone. Who I spend my nights with is not their business unless I decide to tell them.” She hissed. Her tone left no room for debate, and Azriel knew it. There was a flash of emotion in his hazel eyes before giving a single nod. He stepped a little to the side of the door, waiting for her to accompany him down to one of the meeting rooms. 

Mor closed the door, and went back to her bedroom to collect her clothes and prepare to pour over whatever notes Az had for her. As she gathered a fresh pair of trousers and underthings she turned and remembered Nesta was still dozing in her bed. Mor sighed, she didn’t know if she should leave Nesta like this or see her out herself. She shook her head and padded into her office where she scribbled a quick note to the woman currently hogging the covers of her bed and left it next to her head.

______________

It was the sound of tearing that woke her up.

Nesta jerked awake, her hands propping her up on the bed as her chest heaved. Her hand slid to her sternum and she felt her own heart beating wildly against her ribs. She had been dreaming again. 

She had dreamt that she was playing liars dice again, with the same playing partner from the night before. Only they weren’t playing inside of a tavern, but on a battlefield with the sounds of dying men and women echoing in her ears. She remembered that she had wanted to turn and look but then she remembered her playing partner, and when her gaze zeroed in on him, his smile was cold. The same cold smile she had seen on the monarch ruling from his throne room in Hybern. Thinking of it sent a shiver up her spine and her stomach lurched with nausea. She gripped the bed sheets and fought against her reaction, taking long deep breaths. 

_It’s just a dream._ She thought to herself, _the war is over._ Nesta shook herself again and felt her anxiety abate. It was then that she felt the ribbons of fabric underneath her fingertips, and when she looked down she saw that she had shredded one of Mor’s pillows and her pillowcase on top of it. 

Damn this fae strength.

Nesta picked up the ruined pillow, then groaned when a dozen feathers spilled out over the bedsheets, and in the process, she spotted a note written on thick parchment paper. She set the pillow carefully on her lap and then picked up the note and unfolded it and started to read.

_Nesta:_

_I had to leave this morning early on business. I am sorry I could not wake you up and see you off myself. Last night was wonderful, do tell me when you would like to do it again._

_Morrigan_

Nesta felt her lips twitch in response at the note, even though she felt a sliver of disappointment at not seeing Mor this morning. Then she shook herself out of whatever feelings were fluttering around inside her. Now was not the time. Nesta slipped out of bed and carefully stepped around looking for her clothes. She found them thrown haphazardly all over the floor and slipped them on one by one. She took her time, pulling on her underclothes and chemise slowly, remembering how Mor had peeled them off of her and set her skin on fire.

Nesta did not know why Mor made her feel the way she did; what it was about the fae woman that inspired such intense sensations. Maybe it was because Mor made things easy; she was sincere and honest, something that Nesta wasn’t very used too. There was a small part of her that, deep down, wanted to open up to Mor, wanted to tell her every fear and insecurity, and every time that part of herself reared its head, Nesta shoved it back down. She didn’t need to confide in Mor, she just needed someone who would keep their mouth shut and could touch her how she wanted to be touched, that was all. What she had now was perfect and enough for her. Nesta shook herself and combed her fingers through her disheveled hair in frustration and looked around the room.

Mor’s bedroom was sizable with room for a large bed, a dark wood cabinet, a matching chest for her clothes, a dark granite fireplace, and a large mirror outlined in silver. Nesta made her way through a pair of polished dark oak doors to Mor’s office which was furnished with a matching dark oak desk, cabinets, two red upholstered chairs, and a large shelf where dozens of thick, leather bound books sat. Compared to Rhysand and Feyre’s quarters, Mor’s were smaller and relatively nondescript, but it was also cozy and warm.

Nesta found herself moving forward, and gently running her hands over the wood of the desk; it was smooth to the touch, and covered in neatly stacked papers and quills. Idly Nesta wondered what work Mor did and what it actually meant to oversee an entire city. 

She then remembered that she had to leave the mountain at some point; her being here would raise far too many questions for her liking. 

Nesta carefully opened the balcony doors and stepped outside. The last thing she wanted was to go on another flight, but as she still did not know how to winnow, much less if she even could winnow, her options were limited. Nesta let out a long, suffering sigh and called for Nemain once again.

______________

The flight was less turbulent than the night before, but Nesta still got the sense that Nemain playing with her just a little bit. It seemed as though Mor’s raven had a sense of humor. 

Nemain touched down in front of Nesta’s little cottage and waited until Nesta slid off her back before taking off again with a low clucking noise. Nesta had half a mind to think it seemed like the raven was laughing.

As always, when Nesta stepped inside the floating lights lit up, illuminating the state of her house, and it was a mess. The table and kitchen counters were littered with wine, whiskey bottles, and loose crumpled papers. There were crumbs, and plates on the counter that had been left out for days, and there was a fine layer of dust on the floor. Nesta winced internally at the mess. It was often that Nesta couldn’t bring herself to clean up, and instead just glare at the bottles while she drained another, making a bigger mess.

Nesta turned away and instead marched up the stairs where she pumped enough water for a bath, heated it up in the fireplace, and then soaked herself for a good long time.

______________

“What about these trades with northern traders?” Mor said, pointing to the map in front of her. 

“It is a new development,” Azriel said to her right. “The court bought supplies from local farmers and traders close to the mountain. There are valuable fabrics and textiles in the northern tip of the Night Court, but it is odd that the Hewn City is taking an interest now.” They were seated at dark oak table in one of the many council rooms, pouring over a couple gathered papers and a map of the Night Court, outlining different trade routes. To Mor’s left were two of Azriel’s spies who gathered the information; Imra and Ildan. 

“Perhaps it is a new fashion trend,” Mor said drily, then she looked up and raised an eyebrow at Ildan. “Is it a new fashion trend?”

“I do not believe so.” Ildan said straightening. He was a young fae, with gray-blue skin, long dark hair, and longer pointed ears known for the Firbolg fae. Imra on the other had brown skin, black wavy hair, and indigo eyes that seemed to betray nothing of how she felt. Azriel’s spy network was vast, and these two were recruited before the war and had fought with Cassian’s men during the invasion. Mor was wary of them mostly because they were from the Hewn City, but they had also done good work in gathering information, and Azriel seemed to trust them, and Mor is willing to put her faith in them. 

“What I do not understand is this,” Azriel said, pointing to a letter Ildan intercepted and copied that was addressed to Keir. “This is not a language I know.”

“I believe it is Shadar.” Ildan said, “it is an old language spoken by the darkbringers and the inhabitants of the lower levels of the Hewn City.”

“Can it be translated?” Azriel asked, leaning forward slightly.

Ildan shifted from a little, “to be perfectly honest I am not sure. It is not widely written and any books detailing the language are only found in the Court library that Keir has guarded around the clock.”

Mor kept her face neutral at the mention of her father, but Azriel’s face drew down into a dark look. It was no secret that Azriel hated Keir, and if given the opportunity would probably rip his throat out. 

“Then that is your next assignment,” Mor said, “keep quietly gathering information and try and find a way to translate the Shadar in this letter. I want to know what my father is saying to his allies. Especially keep your eyes and ears open at the festival tonight. Above all else, be careful, both of you.”

Both Imra and Ildan nodded and bowed, before gathering up the papers they gathered and slipping out of the meeting room. Mor then sat down heavily in her chair, resting her chin on her fist.

“My father is hiding something and he does not want prying eyes to find out what it is.” Mor said, her eyes shifting to Azriel who has a contemplative look on his face.

“I will tell Rhys what we have so far.” He said, straightening and making his way to the doors. “I expect you will be at the festival tonight as well?”

Mor smiled, “I am overseer of Velaris and the Hewn City. My attendance is required.” 

Azriel huffed in annoyance, “as is mine. Why Rhys makes me go to these parties is beyond me.” With that he shut the door behind him, leaving Mor alone with the map and papers.

Keir was organizing something, she knew that much, and her father liked to execute plans as swiftly as possible. What was interesting is that he was receiving letters written in a language common among the fae of the lower levels, the commoners and lower fae. The idea that he developed an interest in the language of the Darkbringers under his jurisdiction is very interesting. He was making moves quickly and quietly, and now was more determined than ever to find out what he was up too before he showed his hand.

______________

Hours later, Nesta heard a loud bang on her front door.

She had emerged out of her bath two hours before; her skin warm and pruning, and taken a long nap. Then when she woke she forced herself to put on a worn but soft gray dress and sweep some of the crumbs and debris in the kitchen and clean most of the plates. When that was done, she pulled out the second-to-last bottle of raspberry wine she had saved and poured herself two glasses worth. Now she could relax, stretch out in front of the fireplace, maybe read a little…

Then she heard a loud banging on her front door. Nesta stood up, mildly alarmed, and stalked to the door and threw it open. When she saw who was on the other side, her alarm swiftly shifted to anger and she fought against her impulse to swear. 

Cassian stood before her. He was wearing what looked like formal armor and his hair neatly tied back and away from his face. His wings, heavily scarred as they were, were tucked neatly behind him. Nesta smelled cologne on him and noticed that his armor gleamed as if it were recently polished. He looked the picture of a knight, and Nesta desperately wanted him to go away.

He cocked his head to the side, his expression a combination of curious and withering. “You smell like wine.”

“Yes,” Nesta said, letting her lips curl into a contemptuous smile. “Because I was drinking wine.”

“Well you should stop,” he said, “you have to be ready for the festival that starts at nightfall.”

Nesta gave him a confused look, “I wasn’t planning on going to a festival tonight. I don’t even know what festival you are talking about.”

Cassian blinked at her, “What are you talking about? I know Feyre sent you an invitation. Do not play stupid now.”

Nesta ground her teeth, “I am not _playing_ anything. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Rhys is throwing a festival in order to fully welcome the people of the Hewn City into Velaris. You are expected to be there as you are the blood related sister of the High Lady.” He said with a smile, “and I am to escort you to there before the festivities start so you can get dressed.”

“Tell Feyre I do not want to go to her political party.” Nesta growled, “I do not want to spend time with her courtiers or with Rhys.”

“You know other fae would kill to be in your position and yet you only meet it with scorn. Parties are fun, why do you not want to go?” He asked.

Nesta wanted to thrash Cassian and then herself. She had forgotten about the festival; she knew the invitation was buried under the pile of papers on her table that she had been too tired to sift through. This seemed like a dismal affair, and the idea of hanging around Feyre with her happy glow, and Rhys with his judgmental eyes did not scream of a fun time to her.

“I want a night alone.” She said instead, Cassian didn’t need to know how she really felt.

“You’re always alone.” Cassian said, “you spend your nights on your own save for whatever person you bring home to fuck.” As he said it, she saw his nostrils flare in anger and Nesta felt her own anger rise in response. “At a festival, you do not have to be alone.”

“Do _not_ lecture me about how I live my life you _Jackass,_ ” she snarled. “I don’t want to go, and no amount of sarcasm from you is going to make me want to go, so go away.”

She made to shut the door, but Cassian’s boot came in and stopped it. “Nesta, this is not something you can turn away from.” He was serious now, “you are expected to go, and if you are not there, the nobility of the Court of Nightmares will take it as an insult. Rhys does not want that, and he told me to throw you over my shoulder and take you to the festival if I had too.”

Nesta felt her anger boiling under her skin, burning her throat and face. Never mind that she could insult the nobility of the court, she did not want to spend a long period of time speaking to fae who either looked down their noses at her or spoke to her about politics she knew nothing about. She would be caught off-guard, and cauldron damn anyone who forced her into such a position. “ _Fuck you both._ ” She hissed, “fuck you and fuck Rhys.” 

“I had a feeling you would say that,” Cassian said through his teeth, “but you do have to come. After two hours, I promise you can leave. Just stay long enough so as not to raise suspicion.”

Her fingers clenched and unclenched beside her unconsciously, as it she was deciding whether or not to lash out. She levelled Cassian with a glare that even made him take a small step back.

Why did Feyre insist on bringing her to these parties? Why was it important that she spend time with her sister’s friends? All she wanted was to be left alone, and no one seemed to be capable of letting her be. Distantly, she knew they were worried about her, but that didn’t mean that Feyre and Rhys could send whoever they wanted to her house and make her do whatever they pleased.

It was maddening, and it wasn’t fair. But, as Nesta was learning, faeries did not care about what was fair or not. And she also knew that Cassian would make good on his orders; either she would go with him of her own free will, or he would drag her to court kicking and screaming. Caught between a rock and hard place, there was only one choice to make. She straightened and looked into his hazel eyes unflinchingly.

“You said I only had to be there for two hours?” her voice still as bitter as before.

Cassian put his fist to his chest, “on my honor as a general.”

“Then let’s stop wasting time.”

______________

The attendants carefully hung the banners from the pillars the sigil of the night court, a mountain and two stars, stitched with fine silver thread.

They had decided to set up the festival in the largest forum, sitting a couple blocks away from The Rainbow. The square was more in the shape of an octagon, with the faces of shops, taverns, and inns pointing toward the center of the forum. The space was nondescript, but it was large and could easily fit members of court from both Velaris and the Hewn City for a party. Mor had arrived early to help oversee the setup of the festivities, with Amren arriving soon after her to also keep an eye on things. 

Amren was prowling around the space; she had a glass of champagne in one hand and seemed to be walking around, smiling her unsettling smile. But Mor knew that she was here to make sure the set up went smoothly and there was no tampering with food or drink. Initially, Azriel wanted to be the one making the rounds, but Mor suggested that Amren was the one seen doing the walkthrough so anyone who wanted to cause some mischief would know they were answering to her. And Amren was far more unsettling than Azriel.

Mor watched, arms crossed, as the various fae under the employ of the High Lord scurried around setting up the festivities. She had been worried that it would be too cold to have the festival outside, but luckily it was starting to warm a little in the Night Court. She had her attendants sweep up whatever snow had been left in the forum and light wisps of faerie lights, which floated gently in the space. Others were bringing in wooden tables and chairs, some were climbing up and hanging more banners, others were sweeping dirt away from the flat stones.

“Do you really think Keir would attempt something at this festival?” Mor kept her composure, but Amren could be very quiet when she wanted to be, and she hadn’t heard her step behind her.

“No,” Mor said, her eyes following a pretty fae woman as she lit a faerie light, “no I do not.” Her fingers lightly drumming against her bicep, “He will not make a move tonight, but when it comes to him one can never be too careful.”

Amren hummed beside her. She was a full head shorter than Morrigan, and only came up to Rhysand and Cassian’s chests, but that did not make her any less intimidating. 

“Cassian brought Nesta to Rhy’s townhouse a couple minutes ago.” Amren stated, taking a sip of her champagne. 

Mor raised an eyebrow at that, “Why does that matter to me?”

Amren shrugged, “Feyre wanted her at the festivities tonight, and Rhys was not going to allow her to abstain from it.” She took a sip of champagne, “she clearly does not know how to use her powers yet. If she did, Cassian would not have had to carry her there.” 

At the image of Cassian holding Nesta in his arms, Mor felt a flash of irritation slide through her, followed by slight bewilderment at the intensity of the feeling. In her periphery, she saw Amren turn her head to look at her, and Mor knew she had been quiet for a second too long.

“I do not understand why she has to be here tonight,” Mor said simply, aiming for nonchalance. 

Amren watched her steadily before replying, “she is sister to the High Lady. I imagine that the Court of Nightmares would be unhappy that they were denied a meeting with the eldest Archeron sister.” Amren said, rolling her eyes at the title of ‘Nightmares’.

“She does not need to meet Keir,” Mor said with a slight edge to her voice, “and Lucien and Elain do not need to meet him either for that matter.” She adds quickly after.

“Funny,” Amren said, “I do not remember you caring so much about the other Archeron’s.”

“I did not want Feyre to meet my father, and Nesta does not need to be exposed to his vitriol either.” Mor stated with a wave of her hand. Then she paused, for she realized her mistake as soon as she opened her mouth. Mor had never used Nesta’s name in such a familiar way before and Amren was bound to notice. For whatever reason; whether because she was feeling generous or because she didn’t care, Amren made no comment on it, and instead let out a low chuckle.

“I would rather like to see Nesta go against Keir. He is so proud, and she has such a way with sharp, barbed words, wouldn’t you agree?” She said cocking a brow.

Mor’s traitorous mind replayed a few choice moments from the night before; remembering the high-pitched whines and moans of “please” that had come out of Nesta’s mouth only several hours ago. “That she does.”

“I think Rhys should send her to Keir every time he opens his hole of a mouth.” Amren said, letting out a loud guffaw.

“Why not send you instead?” Mor said looking over at her.

“I am not much of a talker,” she said shrugging, “I would just like to break all of his bones, but Rhys will not let me. Apparently, he has real obligations in the Hewn City.” She rolled her eyes, “politics tend to get in the way of my method of handling your unruly family members.”

“Court politics get in the way of many things.” Mor said lowly, her expression dower.

Silence followed, as the two women watched as the scene of the festival came together more and more. Tonight, would be tense; courtiers from the Hewn City and Velaris would be meeting face to face for the first time in decades, and there was bound to be some strife. What is more is that Keir and his comrades would be in Velaris, in her city, and he could come and go whenever he pleased. It was enough to make more a little agitated.

“Morrigan.” Amren’s voice was low and, to Mor’s surprise, laced with a little concern. “Be careful.”

“Be careful about what exactly?” Mor asked.

“You have already been through enough heartbreak.” Amren said not unkindly, her obsidion eyes boring into Mor’s brown ones. “Be careful about whatever you might have gotten yourself into.”


	6. Chapter 6

Nuala smoothed down the shoulders of the dress, while Cerridwen curled the last of her hair. Nesta stood between them, fuming and agitated, as they finished making her presentable for the festival. When Cassian had touched down in Velaris, he had set her down on the balcony of Rhysand’s townhouse. Nesta had prepared herself to deal with Rhysand as she was led inside, but all she saw was Nuala and Cerridwen, Rhys’s servants, who had prepared the dressing room for her. Upon seeing this she whirled on Cassian, only to find that he was already flying off, waving goodbye behind him as he took off.

“Does this satisfy you Lady Archeron?” Nuala asked, her hands clasped in front of her. Nesta turned and scrutinized herself in the mirror. Her dress was a deep violet color reminiscent of the night sky with a long skirt, sleeves, and tight bodice. The cuffs and neckline were embroidered in silver stars and there were parts of the dress that were lilac colored, that stretched from her shoulders to collarbones and from her lower back toward the front of her pelvis. More surprising was that the dress was backless and opened to show her shoulders down to her lower back. Nuala had found black sandals for her that wrapped around her ankles and tied behind her calves.

Then Cerridwen had painted her lips bright red and lined her eyes with black, saying that it made her pale eyes brighter. Both of them had braided the top half of her hair into an elaborate bun at the back of her head, letting the rest of her chestnut hang down her back. She was dressed exactly like a high-ranking faerie from the Night Court would dress; she looked like a Lady of rank. It felt very surreal, and very much like a lie. 

“Lady Archeron?” Cerridwen asked again, gazing at her curiously. The twins were dressed immaculately in black trimmed in silver, just like any other fae part of the house of the High Lord and Lady. Nesta watched as their forms shifted slightly in the light, going from solid to translucent then back to solid in a matter of seconds. She wondered idly if the twins could walk through walls, Nesta would very much like to fade through the walls and avoid participating in this party at all.

“Yes, this is fine.” She stated simply, brushing her hands on her thighs. The dress was beautiful, and she looked incredible, Nesta could admit that much. Nuala and Cerridwen were very skilled. But she didn’t feel incredible; in fact, as soon as Nesta had taken in her appearance, she felt her misery bubble up inside her. It was a tar-like wave of emotion; it stuck to her insides and coated her throat in muck as she tried to push it down. She looked like a noble, like the kind of lady she could have been back in the human world, and that thought alone sent her reeling. As she pushed her despair down, another feeling solidified itself in her mind: she needed a drink. “Where do I go from here?” She asked, steeling herself.

Nuala inclined her head and led her down the stairs from the second floor, Cerridwen following behind her on silent feet. As she was coming down the stairs, she heard a door open somewhere in the house, and more voices chatting quietly with one another. Who else could be here?

She got her answer as Lucian Vanserra, the faerie man from the Autumn Court, and her sister Elain appeared from the kitchen. Elain was in the middle of giggling at a joke before she spotted Nesta and stopped in the doorway. She was dressed elegantly in a dress similar in color to Nesta’s, the difference being that Elain’s had a scoop neckline instead of a backless bodice. Her gold-brown hair was twisted up behind her head and, there was gold necklace circling her neck with a pendant holding a blue gem in the center. She looked beautiful and vibrant and spirited; the exact opposite of how Nesta felt at that moment. 

“Nesta?” Elain blinked in surprise. Nesta could hardly blame her for her reaction; after all she hated going to any social functions that her sister and brother-in-law hosted, and she had not told Elain she would be here. 

She had not told Elain much of anything lately.

As the two of them regarded each other someone cleared their throat and Nesta turned to see Lucian awkwardly step away from Elain and join Nuala and Cerridwen. “My outfit is upstairs, and I very much need to change.” He stated moving toward the stairs. Nuala and Cerridwen nodded enthusiastically and followed Lucian up the stairs, all three of them disappearing far too quickly to seem inconspicuous. 

Now, it was just Nesta and Elain, and while Nesta had always been comfortable around her younger sister, the atmosphere in the room seemed to have shifted. She wanted to say something, perhaps give an explanation as to where she had been for the past couple of months, what she was doing, where she was living, but nothing came to mind. Elain was staring at her, her initial shock fading into what looked like contemplation. Nesta crossed her arms and decided to stay utterly silent, breathing in and out carefully so that she gave herself something to think about that wasn’t her sister.

Finally, after a pregnant pause, Elain spoke, “Feyre didn’t tell me you would be coming tonight.” Her tone was light, but Nesta could tell there was something underneath it.

“I wasn’t planning on coming in the first place,” Nesta replied, “I don’t like their parties.”

Elain pursed her lips, “but you’re here regardless.”

“Yes,” Nesta stated “Cassian brought me here on Rhys’s orders.” Nesta felt her irritation flare at the thought of Cassian but kept her voice even. “Apparently, the nobility from the Hewn City will be insulted if I don’t make an appearance.”

Elain nodded, “yes, Rhysand told me the same thing when he invited me. I think because we are war heroes, and part of Feyre’s family, we join the gentry of the Night Court. And I imagine the gentry of the Hewn City would want to meet us after what we did.”

Nesta flinched at that, her shoulders tightened at the mention of the war, and Elain noticed. “I don’t understand why meeting me is important, and I don’t particularly want to meet them.” She took a breath, “they know what happened anyways.”

“Nesta you killed the King of Hybern.” Elain pointed out bluntly, her expression confused. Nesta immediately felt her stomach drop at the mention of the King, and she gripped the sleeves of her dress tightly, hoping they don’t rip.

“I wouldn’t have been able too without you.” She said slowly, “I’m not some great warrior.”

“But you are Nesta,” Elain said stepping closer. “We fought him and won.”

“We didn’t fight him. You struck him when his back was turned and I got lucky” she hissed, then Nesta took a deep breath. “Please don’t…don’t talk to me about him. I don’t want to talk about Hybern.”

The sentence sat heavy in the air; Nesta slowly unclenched her fingers from her sleeves and continued to breath in and out slowly through her nose. And when she looked up again, she found Elain staring at her, her brown eyes narrowed in a way that Nesta had never seen before.

“And what _can_ we talk about Nesta?” The question took Nesta off-guard, as the anger and bitterness were clear in Elain’s voice.

“Excuse me?”

“What can we talk about?” Elain said looking Nesta in the eye. “Because we haven’t talked about anything in so long. You live far outside the city and I rarely hear from you.” Elain tilted her chin up at that, “the only things I _have_ heard are anecdotes from Cassian on your messy cottage and how you go out at all hours with-” Elain floundered with her words, “with strangers!” 

Nesta’s mouth fell open in shock, “Elain-”

“You’re my older sister.” The words were like a punch to the gut, and Nesta felt guilt rocket through her. “And you won’t talk to me. You won’t even _see_ me, or Feyre for that matter.” Elain declared, her voice thick with emotion and, to Nesta’s horror, with tears in her eyes. “What did we _do_ Nesta?”

Nesta felt her own mouth open and close in shock. She certainly hadn’t expected this tonight, but then again nothing could have prepared her for Elain’s anger when it was directed at _her_. A slew of emotions whirled around inside her chest; guilt, anguish, sadness all coupled together and racing around each other in her heart. She felt the prickle of heat behind her eyes and furiously blinked away whatever tears that were coming and reached forward, putting her hands on Elain’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do anything Elain,” she said, “and neither did Feyre.” She took a breath, “I just…I needed space.”

“I _miss_ you Nesta,” Elain warbled, “can’t you move back to the center of Velaris? You can stay with me, or Feyre, or whoever.” She looked up and her lips formed a small smile, “you have a place with us.”

Nesta’s heart soared at that, it felt so good knowing that her sisters still cared. But to move in with either of them…

“I can’t.” She breathed and felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness now that she had said it. Elain looked at Nesta bewildered.

“Why not? Is it the location? We can-”

“No, no,” Nesta said stepping back, watching as Elain’s arms dropped to her sides. “I just…It’s better for me if I stay where I am.”

Part of Nesta wanted to tell Elain how she really felt; that she couldn’t bear to let them see how poorly she was dealing with everything. How she had trouble dragging herself out of bed some mornings, or how she woke up screaming from nightmares that did and did not make sense or how much she drank. Nesta knew that she would rather die than let her sisters see the truth of her, the ugly pathetic truth of what she has become. It was too much.

“I’m okay Elain.” She said, “you don’t need to worry.”

Elain’s mouth turned down, her eyes staring at Nesta with a kind of rawness that Elain hardly ever showed her. “Nesta-”

They heard footsteps, and both women looked up to watch Lucian jog lightly down the stairs. His curly red hair had been tied up in an elegant knot behind his head, and Nuala and Cerridwen had fitted him in polished black boots, indigo trousers, a dark blue tunic, and a matching indigo jacket. Both his trousers, jacket cuffs, and collar were lined in silver vines and maple leaves, as a nod to his heritage from the autumn court. It brought out the brown of his skin and the red accents of his eyes. He looked incredible, and Nesta didn’t miss the way that Elain, despite how tense she was, softened a little at the sight of him.

Lucian scrunched up his nose as he looked down at himself, “I do not think blue is my color,” he stated, “but the jacket is beautiful.”

“You look very handsome.” Elain said, stepping forward and smoothing out the collar of his jacket. Lucian blushed at the contact, and Nesta was glad for Elain’s relationship, even if it made her sad for reasons she could not quite understand. 

There was another sound of a door opening somewhere, and everyone turned to watch Azriel and Cassian emerge from the kitchen. Both men were wearing the same polished, ceremonial armor, with blue and red half cloaks pinned across their shoulders. Both Azriel and Cassian had silver pins, stamped with the mountain and stars, holding the cloaks to their left breasts. Both men looked equally intimidating and handsome.

“It’s time everyone,” Cassian said grinning, “myself and Az will be your escorts this evening.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, instead he just rolled his eyes and strolled over to Lucian and Elain. Nesta watched as Az gave a little half bow to Elain and, to her surprise, gave the same bow to Lucian, and took up his place on Elain’s left. Before Nesta had a chance to even raise her eyebrows at the strange display Cassian was in front of her, offering his arm.

“Are you ready, my Lady?” He said with a smirk. Nesta glared at him and instead brushed past him toward the front of the house.

“I’m ready as I will ever be.” She said pulling open the front door and stepping into the twilight of Velaris.

______________

Morrigan resisted the urge to start pacing along the raised platform as fae members of the gentry filed in from all over the court. There was no sign of the members of the Hewn City court just yet, but she knew they were on their way, she could practically feel the apprehension in the atmosphere of the forum. Amren stood to her left, with Rhys and Feyre on the other side of her, standing side by side with neutral, but open expressions on their faces. 

Amren’s eyes were watchful; gazing out at the growing crowd as fae men and women sauntered in and greeted each other with kisses on cheeks or clasping of forearms. Her eyes were a different color now, almost black, but somehow they still held the same otherworldly feeling as they had before. She was wearing a long, elegant dark blue tunic underneath a beautiful gray jacket, with matching trousers and black boots. Amren had twisted her hair up in a neat coiled knot, and silver earrings dangled from her earlobes. She looked every bit the mysterious second-in-command that she portrayed herself to be. Mor was a little jealous of how put together she looked.

“Morrigan please stop that.” Amren said, not taking her eyes off the crowd.

Mor balked at that, “I am not doing anything.” She stated clasping her hands behind her back. 

“I can practically feel the agitated energy emanating from you, my friend.” Amren said, “perhaps you should have a drink.”

“No, I need to be completely sober when the Hewn City court arrives.” Mor said, the corners of her mouth turning down into a frown.

Amren huffed, and Morrigan followed her gaze to a group of fae coming down the center street. Immediately she recognized her friends; Azriel and Lucian bracketed Elain on either side, and the three of them seemed to be having a hushed but amicable conversation, with Elain laughing in the middle. Mor watched as Lucian said something and Azriel’s lips curled into a warm smile. 

_Interesting,_ she thought. Then she saw the Cassian and Nesta behind them and straightened up. Cassian looked as rugged as ever but with the polished flare of having his formal armor and hair neatly combed. But beside him was Nesta, and she looked _gorgeous_. The sight of her stole Mor’s breath. Her dress was the color of the night sky with accents of lilac and silver, which seemed to make her pale blue eyes pop. She was devastatingly beautiful, and Mor felt her chest warm in response.

She was frowning beside Cassian, and Mor noticed that she had not taken his arm, instead marching forward on her own. As the five of them walked, other members of the gentry turned to stare, trading whispers with one another. Most of their eyes appeared to be trained on Nesta, who seemed to stand out among them. 

As they approached the platform, Azriel and Cassian broke away from the group and marched up the stairs. The both of them clasped Rhys’s arm in salute before moving to stand behind Mor and Amren. Lucian brought Elain up to the platform and led her up the stairs before turning back and moving toward the front of the crowd, hands clasped behind him as if he no longer knew what to do with them since Elain left him. Nesta followed, and together her and Elain approached the platform; Elain and Feyre clasped each other in warm hugs, but Nesta stopped and simply nodded at her sister before she stood to Elain’s left, leaving her at the farthest end of the platform. She hid it well, but Mor saw a flash of hurt cross Feyre’s face before she and Elain exchanged a look. Compared to her other sisters, Nesta seemed so far away from the rest of them. 

The crowd seemed to go quiet, then, and Mor stiffened, turning to watch as a parade of fae, all dressed in shades of gray and burgundy, make their way into the space. Keir was in front; his dark hair neatly combed back, his beard trimmed, and looking far too pleased with himself. Behind him marched a few of the members of the Hewn City gentry; Thanatos, Euryleon, Brighde, and Caitriona, all wearing the same outfits. Other members of the gentry, probably family members and spouses, followed behind. Among them were Imra and Ildan, who wore twin expressions of neutrality.

As the court shuffled in, members of the Court in Velaris watched them file in; some openly glared while others simply gazed at them with curious eyes. The two courts seemed to be surveying each other; each looking for one another’s weaknesses and faults. Morrigan felt eyes on her and swept her gaze around to find Keir gazing at her, half in contempt half in contemplation. Mor locked eyes with her father and stared back, unflinching and unyielding. Keir’s nostrils flared and he looked away, gaze sweeping across the opposing court. When everyone seemed to have settled in, Rhysand stepped forward.

Almost immediately the crowd went silent.

“Members of the Hewn City and Velaris,” he intoned, his voice amplified with magic by a fae woman standing below next to the platform. “I have gathered all of you here today for a historical moment in our lands. As the war with Hybern approached our borders, we faced a threat that spelled disaster for us and for the other Courts.” He paused, gaze sweeping over the crowd, “it is because of this war that I came to realize we needed to work together in order to beat back the forces of Hybern. The Hewn City court-” at this, members of the court of Nightmares gave a few cheers, and in response fae from Velaris shot them glares. “Aided us and fought for their court, like any fae willing to protect their home.

“It is because of this that I have unsealed the Hewn City. They are welcome in Velaris, and any other part of the Night Court they choose to travel too,” Rhys said, “likewise, any fae who wants to travel to the Hewn City is welcome too. No longer will we be separated by the choices of our ancestors, but rather we will strive to be a unified court.” Rhys then spread his arms wide and smiled dazzlingly at the crowd, “let us celebrate this momentous occasion with food and drink! Please enjoy the festivities on behalf of our house.” At this, Feyre stepped forward and took Rhysand’s hand and they bowed together. The short speech garnered applause and some cheering; Mor could tell that half of it was forced, and that both courts did not look like they wanted to applaud all that much.

After Rhysand and Feyre straightened, the music started, and the fae in the crowd started to mingle and chat once again. Amren was the first the leave the platform, and breezed through the crowd, inserting herself into a conversation with some gentry members from Velaris. Cassian, however, turned his eyes to Nesta and looked as if he was going to walk over to her, but after Nesta gave him a warning glare, Cassian clenched his jaw and instead made his way over to the long tables piled high with food. Mor herself wasn’t too concerned with mingling just yet, and instead made her way over to Rhys, who was murmuring in Feyre’s ear.

“That was a very pretty speech you gave, cousin.” Mor said quietly, stepping up to Rhysand’s right side. “I almost believed what you were saying.”

Rhysand sighed, “I know it sounded overly saccharine, but I truly did not know what else to say. Now we have to plan our next move.”

Mor nodded, “Az has his spies looking into the comings and goings of the Hewn City. This event lets us meet the most important members of his circle.”

“Well, then,” Feyre said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “I should leave to go socialize then.” With that she planted a kiss on Rhysand’s cheek and made her way down the platform stairs, violet dress trailing behind her as she greeted fae men and women warmly.

Mor tilted her head curiously, “she seems oddly excited to fraternize with the Hewn City gentry.” 

Rhysand shrugged, but there was a smile on his face, “I think she is rather excited about finally being able to sink her claws into Keir. He is in her territory now.”

The two of them paused then, simply watching members of their courts interact with one another. A fae man from Velaris stepped forward and courteously asked a woman from the Hewn City to dance. Mor watched as surprise crossed her features before she gave him a simpering smile and took his hand. 

“Rhys.” Mor’s voice was low, so that no one could hear them. In response Rhysand turned to face her fully and looked her in the eye; his violet eyes meeting her brown ones. “Are you worried about what will happen now that their exile is over?” She knew that Rhys would know who the “they” was.

“Yes,” he said without pausing to think about the question. “Do you?”

“I have thought about it every day since we made the bargain.” Mor confessed, “what will we do if they do try to spread their cruelty like before?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his expression serious, before squeezing her arm reassuringly. “If anything goes wrong, we do what we have always done,” he said. “We fight it. Both for ourselves, and for the people we care about.”

______________

The first thing Nesta did after Rhys’s speech was over was hunt down a glass of alcohol. She slipped off the platform as inconspicuously as possible and made her way through the crowd, making sure not to make direct eye contact with anyone. A servant breezed by her with a tray and Nesta plucked one off as he passed, offering him a polite smile, then immediately taking swallowing two mouthfuls of the liquid. It was fresh champagne and it made her tongue tingle, she hoped that it would get her buzzed soon enough so that she would not have to deal with whatever unnecessary conversations would come her way.

“Not taking it easy on the drink tonight eh?” Nesta resisted the urge to choke on her third large sip of alcohol and whirled around to face the person who spoke. It was a fae man she had never seen before; he was a few inches taller than her with sleek dark hair that was neatly combed and fell to his pointed ears. He was dressed immaculately in a charcoal gray outfit and held the same glass of champagne in his left hand. Everything about him seemed simple enough, save for his eyes; his sclera were completely black and his irises were a pretty indigo color. Sometimes Nesta forgot how strange fae features could be.

“I like champagne.” She replied, feeling uncomfortable and caught off-guard.

The fae man grinned, his teeth pearly white. “I must admit, I prefer regular wine myself, but, at an event like this I cannot, say no.” He shrugged then.

Nesta frowned at him, “is there something you want?”

The man blinked in surprise before recovering. “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself.” He held out his arm, “I am Trevan. Trevan of the Hewn City.”

Nesta might not have been well versed in faerie customs, but she knew enough to greet members of the courts. She shifted her champagne glass to her left hand before reaching out with her right, clasping the forearm of the man before her. “Nesta Archeron.”

Trevan’s eyes widened again in surprise again. “Nesta of the human world? Sister of our High Lady?”

Nesta resisted the urge to wince and snatch her hand away, “yes.”

“Oh, how interesting,” he said, and his words seemed almost giddy. “I had not expected to speak with a member of the High Lady’s family tonight. It is an honor.” He bowed his head as he stepped back, and Nesta let her hand drop to her side.

Trevan grinned at her and took a sip of his drink. “This city is quite pretty, yes? It is the first time I am seeing it, after all. And the night seems to be just as beautiful as my father said.” Nesta glanced at Trevan, before gazing up at the sky which had taken on a deep purple color and was speckled with millions of silver stars. Trevan wasn’t wrong, it _was_ a beautiful sight.

Nesta felt suddenly like there was an undercurrent to this conversation that she could not navigate. A subtle mention of fae politics and social norms that she was not privy too. Instead of floundering, she changed the topic of conversation. “Your father?”

“Oh, of course I forgot my manners.” He said looking back at her, “Lord Euryleon.” He pointed out the fae man in question, he had the same features as Trevan but looked a little older and much more agitated. “The Lord of Eastern district. He was quite ready to attend this festival.”

“Eastern District?” She asked simply, taking another sip of her champagne. Trevan gave her an odd look at the question.

“Yes, from the Hewn City. Have you never travelled there?” he questioned curiously. “Pardon my asking, but I assumed all members of the Velarian court came and went from the Hewn City as they pleased.” Nesta heard the genuine surprise in his tone, after all he was under the impression that she was as well versed in court politics as Feyre was, but the bitterness in his voice did not escape her attention. Clearly, there was resulting tension from the Court of Nightmares being in exile for so many years. 

“I have never been to the Hewn City I’m afraid,” she stated evenly. “I only know that the court is renowned for being a terrifying place.” Nesta thought that if Elain had been standing right beside her, she would have balked at her for being too honest. Nesta shrugged inwardly, she wasn’t known for sugar coating her words. 

Trevan was taken aback, not at all prepared for that. Nesta briefly worried that he would huff and storm off, but instead he just straightened and let out a boisterous laugh, “That it is! The rest of Prythian seems to think so as well.” Trevan laughed again and Nesta was shocked to find that it sounded genuine; that she had made him laugh by essentially insulting his home was bewildering to her.

“I must say Lady Archeron, you are not at all like your sister.” He said wiping his eyes, smile still on his face. “You are quite funny.”

Nesta frowned, “I’ve never been described as ‘funny’ before.”

“Well, I think your bluntness appeals to me.” He said smoothing out his coat, “tell me, do ever plan on traveling to the Hewn City?”

“I had not considered it.” She said emptying her champagne glass, “but, if someone gave me a good enough reason to see the City, I might go.”

Trevan grinned and leaned toward her, “Perhaps you could use a guide? I would be delighted to show you around.” He said, “and in return, you would be willing to show me Velaris? I have never been, and I trust your judgement.”

Nesta looked at him incredulously, “By the cauldron, why would you want me to guide you? We just met.” 

“In my court, we appreciate harsh truths over pretty lies,” he said shrugging. “You seem to be full of harsh truths.”

Nesta had no idea what to say to _that_. She regarded Trevan critically, cocking an eyebrow at him. For the most part he seemed genuine and earnest in his respect, but there was something off about his conduct. Nesta could not put her finger on it, but it felt as if Trevan was waiting for something to happen, and she did not know what that was.

Then again, he was offering her companionship, hopefully the non-sexual kind, and she would have a reason to spend time in the city now. He was also part of the gentry and could show her all the interesting places that the Hewn City had to offer. She remembered what Mor had said about the city, how cruel and horrid it was, but she wanted to see it for herself. And frankly, she was curious.

“Well, Trevan of the Hewn City,” she said turning to him fully, “please, show me all that the Court of Nightmares has to offer.” 

Trevan held out his hand, smile on his face, and she shook it. Almost immediately black lines started to spiral across her left pinkie and Nesta watched as a small tattoo swirled into existence on her last finger. She noticed that the same tattoo took shape on Trevan’s left hand too; twin tattoos for a bargain made.

“Fae magic is fascinating.” Nesta said, eyeing the new tattoo. Trevan opened his mouth to reply and Nesta watched as it immediately slammed shut, his expression becoming polite but wary. She frowned at the change until she heard a voice, smooth as velvet, behind her.

“Magic truly is a fickle thing, is it not Lady Archeron?” Nesta turned and came face to face with the Overseer of the Court of Nightmares himself. His brown eyes, such a familiar shade to her, appraised her with cold curiosity. 

Her eyes narrowed, “I apologize, but I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”

“We have not,” he said, “I think I would remember a face like yours.” His lips curled into a charming smile, one that did not meet his eyes. 

Nesta did not know Keir, but she knew what he aimed to do. He assumed that compliments and his unassuming charm would convince her to let down her guard. It was such a simple ploy that a small part of Nesta was surprised he even tried it with her. Then again, so much had changed in this court, which meant that whatever games he was used to playing had changed also.

Keir _was_ handsome, there was no denying that. His eyes were the same brown as Morrigan’s, only his hair was thick, dark, and neatly trimmed. He had a thin matching beard that was also neatly trimmed and wore a slate gray outfit complete with a gray jacket outlined in black. But unlike Morrigan, or even Rhys, there was no warmth in him. He seemed cold, calculating, and uncaring; like this whole interaction was beneath him, that _she_ was beneath him. 

“What pretty words,” Nesta said picking up another champagne glass idly, her voice light. “I have heard such “poetry” from General Cassian many times.” 

Nesta heard a harsh intake of breath to her right, but she ignored Trevan and stared down Keir. At the mention of Cassian, his face twisted in disgust for a split second before he recovered, his expression becoming cool and neutral again. She had only used Cassian as an example, she hadn’t imagined that his name would garner such a reaction from Keir. Clearly, the two men had a history.

“You’re as impertinent as the fae women you spend your time with I see.” He stated with a laugh as if it was a compliment, but the mirth on his face never met his cold brown eyes. Nesta felt her temper flare; he was insulting her without the danger of saying anything too offensive outright. It was a game and one that she, as she felt her temper and determination rise, was far too familiar with. 

“Is impertinence intimidating to you, Steward?” She asked, her voice taking on an innocent quality as she picked up a third glass of champagne.

Keir tensed, though his face remained calm “no, of course not.”

“Ah, but it is something you think about quite a lot.” She took a dainty sip of champagne, letting the bubbles run across her tongue. “I have met many men.” She stated, “some human, some fae, and many of them seem to think “impertinence” in a woman is a bad thing. Typically, I have found that the only reason these men think this way is because they are terrified of not being able to control the woman they want to.” Nesta felt Keir’s indignation and looked at him innocently, watching as outrage clouded his eyes and his muscles stiffened. “Would you agree Steward?”

“Well, Lady,” he finally said, his voice light and careful. “I have learned that such women cannot be so controlled.”

Nesta put her hand to her chest, nodding in understanding. “Of course, of course.” She said, “I feel the same way. Quite strongly in fact.” She locked eyes with him then, letting a bit of challenge bleed into her eyes. She watched as Keir bristled, his brown eyes going wide, before he let out a deep breath.

“Of course,” his responding smile was stiff, and cold and still as rock. “Now if you will excuse me, I must speak with my associate behind you.” Then Keir smoothly sidestepped her, and walked away from her, making sure to keep clear from touching her in any way. Nesta let him go and did not even deign to watch him leave. Better to let him retreat now instead of antagonizing him further, she had made her point. For now. She then turned back to Trevan, who was staring at her open mouthed. 

“Please close your mouth before you catch flies with it,” Nesta said, finishing her second glass of champagne and moving on to the third in her left hand.

Trevan’s mouth slammed closed, but the shocked, wide-eyed look remained on his face. “You just… are you always so brazen?” He asked, baffled. Nesta felt her irritation flare once again, but as she looked at Trevan, she knew his reaction came from a place of genuine shock, not malice. 

“I have always been like this.” She says simply, shrugging. She half expected him to nervously laugh and scurry away in fear, not wanting to fraternize with her now that she had shown him only a little bit of her famed difficult nature. But as she watched him for a few seconds more he did seem shocked, but also in awe of her, as if she had done some great undertaking, when all that had happened was that she had met a fae man’s insults with her own.

Then he smiled again, his laughter full and bright. “Lady Nesta Archeron you _are_ brazen. And I find that so very admirable.” She watched as Trevan drained the rest of his champagne glass then holds out a hand, “Would you like to dance?”

Nesta paused; she didn’t know any traditional dances from the Night Court, and she didn’t know Trevan all that well either. But she was at a party, and she could hear the music starting to swell and laughter coming from the center of the forum. Why not? I wouldn’t kill her to dance with him. Nesta brought her glass to her lips and drained it, finishing the glass of champagne in a few gulps. 

“I hope this dance is not too complicated.” Nesta said, taking Trevan’s hand.

He grinned enthusiastically, “Do not worry Lady Archeron I am very light on my feet,” he said leading her over to where other dancing couples were twirling around. “And I am also sure you will catch on.”


End file.
